


second, third and hundredth chances

by artemine



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming Out, Cullen Rutherford Has Issues, Dorian Pavus Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, Flight Attendants, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Minor Fenris/Male Hawke (Dragon Age), Minor The Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Modern Thedas, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pilots, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, don't we all?, no seriously like 20 years of slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 44,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemine/pseuds/artemine
Summary: Their eyes met, like they had a million times before, like they had for years.Some things were new. Dorian was absently twisting a ring that wasn’t there, the skin of his finger slightly red where a discreet rose golden band used to be. Cullen was nursing an apple juice on the rocks. And yet, some things would never change. Whether they were new recruits excited to visit every hotel the airline had to offer or 20 years into their career, a 10 hours layover to operate the last flight from Denerim to Orlais and the first back to Denerim in the morning was never enough for them to get any rest. They had always met in the quiet of the night, away from hotel rooms they didn’t use, at the 24/7 bar, a moment that was just theirs.note:updates every week-end!
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 48
Kudos: 25





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlemachines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemachines/gifts).



> welcome to "this idea grabbed me by the balls at the beginning of quarantine last year and i have not been freed of it since"! 
> 
> this would be nothing without bird, the best friend an insane person taking on a 20 years long pixel men slow burn could wish for. all of the following is both for her, because of her and thanks to her. direct your complaints to her.
> 
> a practical note: for the purpose of this AU, thedas is _big_ , like long haul flights big. also time is meaningless, present day does not represent any particular year nor do any of the flashbacks!

**PRESENT DAY**

Their eyes met, like they had a million times before, like they had for years. 

It felt just like the first. There was something bittersweet about the novelty of it, the foreign familiarity of sitting across from each other at the same table of the same bar of the same hotel they’d stayed at many times over, the few hours layover too short for either of them to sleep. 

Some things were new. Dorian was absently twisting a ring that was no longer there, the skin of his finger faintly red where a discreet rose golden band used to be. Cullen was nursing an apple juice on the rocks. Some things would never change. Whether they were new recruits excited to visit every hotel the airline had to offer or 20 years into their career, a 10 hours layover to operate the last flight from Denerim to Orlais and the first back to Denerim in the morning was never enough for them to even attempt getting any proper rest. They had and would always meet at the 24/7 bar, in the dead of the night, away from hotel rooms they didn’t use. Those rare moments of quiet remained, despite everything, just theirs. 

The silence between them was so comfortable it was hard to bear. Cullen wanted the seven months they’d spent not saying a word to each other to weigh heavier in the air, to force a bubble to burst, to make them shove each other, but there was nothing around the table except sorrowful understanding, clumsy compassion, inaudible reassurances. They had always loved each other like that, easily but mute. Dorian never shut up about much of anything, except perhaps what they so obviously felt for each other, and what they had felt for years. They didn’t need to hear what the other had to say. They knew, even when they couldn’t entirely get the other’s complex situation, the specificities of how hard it was to just be, the mathematics of surviving. They knew. Blind comprehension was enough. Hadn’t it always been enough? 


	2. heat waves

> _Your heart? Damned / damned._
> 
> \- Darshana Suresh

**18 YEARS AGO**

“And here I go, making a fool of myself again, thinking I was fucking the hottest roommate in the house,” Dorian announced, walking into the living room. 

Cullen barely looked up from his notebook, trying to gather all of his weak concentration to finish redrawing the fly-by-wire feedback loop he had been struggling to memorize. It wasn’t even that hard, and he was upset about having any trouble with it in the first place. The noises of his roommate having sex all night, as well as the very little sleep he’d gotten between his evening shift and his upcoming morning shift did not help, but Cullen wasn’t used to being kind on himself or adjusting his expectations to the reality of what he was going through. He would bend time and space and make it work out of sheer force of will before he’d give himself a break. “Sorry for your loss,” Cullen answered absentmindedly. Dorian laughed and Cullen ignored him, grabbing the pen he’d shoved in his textbook to keep the page and pushing it open. He compared the two drawings and exhaled an angry breath. “Fucking hell,” he said, sitting back on his chair, pushing his notebook away. Cullen grabbed the bottle of whiskey he kept on the table and poured some in his coffee. Dorian whistled between his teeth and Cullen finally looked at him. “Never heard of an Irish Coffee?”

“This heavy a pour, baby, it’s just an Irish Whiskey.” 

Cullen blinked at him. The man who’d been partially responsible for the amount of noise resonating in the apartment was not what Cullen had expected. He didn’t know exactly _what_ he had expected, since he never paid much attention to his roommate and another man stumbling through the hallway as one directly into the bedroom, but he was quite the sight. Between the dark red satin shirt half tucked into well fitting pants, the eyeliner, the short hair that looked like it had been impeccably styled, then tousled by a night of partying and fucking, then less perfectly styled but attractively rearranged nonetheless with jeweled up fingers, Cullen was unsure where to put his eyes. He rubbed them, as if double checking the vision was not a weird subconscious vision of his sleep deprived brain. The man stood there still, impossibly flesh and bone, an amused smile on his face, and Cullen cleared his throat. “Did you want something?” 

“Don’t we all?” They looked at each other in silence as Dorian realized he would not get much of anything out of the man with riddles. “I did, actually,” Dorian said, and he held up his phone. “Do you happen to have a charger around? It preemptively died, and I desperately need to book a taxi home.” Cullen stared at him for a minute and Dorian frowned slightly. “Unless that’s too big a request.” 

“No, no, not at all,” Cullen said, getting up hastily, pushing his chair backwards. It almost fell and he clumsily caught it before it hit the ground. He didn’t want to explain that he hadn’t expected such a mundane request from someone that looked so surreal and _shiny_ , and he walked across the small living room to the nearby TV stand. He rummaged behind it to find cables and extracted one, handing it to Dorian wordlessly. Dorian, instead, gave him his phone, and Cullen grabbed it with his other hand. He plugged it in and glanced back at Dorian, who was himself looking at his notes. 

“You need a better place to study,” Dorian commented, looking around. 

“You don’t say,” Cullen mumbled. He had been doing his best to be patient and decent with his roommates ever since he’d moved in. They were students, he had known that when he’d moved in. The room was cheap and they didn’t care about what he was doing with his life, but he had a lot of things to do and learn, little time to do it and the worst possible environment to at least give it an honest try. 

“I almost feel bad about the noise,” Dorian said. “Didn’t think anyone was studying at this hour, I’ll be honest. Or at least not in here. Or not so early in the year. Or not in general, now that I mention it. Why aren’t you at the library? Unless men moaning is what really gets your brain going. Far from me to judge. I imagine it’s as good a soundtrack as any.” 

“I don’t have access to the library. I’m not a student,” Cullen answered, ignoring the jokes. He had no intention to be rude and didn’t know how to acknowledge them in a way that wouldn’t be. He fidgeted with the phone, frowning. It wouldn’t turn back on, and he wasn’t sure if it was the cable, the phone, or just another one of God’s little tests on his patience. Dorian pointed at the textbooks, and Cullen rubbed the base of his neck. He never liked explaining his projected life trajectory to people. He would be happy to do it once he’d succeeded, but it always sounded a little lame while he was doing the _crawling through the mud_ part. “I’m saving up to be able to afford pilot school. Just getting a head start while I try to get the money, prepping for the entrance exams. I work all day until late, so I can’t really study at any other time.” 

Dorian nodded thoughtfully. “Can’t imagine you’re getting much done around this house, by the looks of it,” he commented. “Can I get some of that whiskey?” Cullen gave him a nod and he walked to the kitchen to get a glass. He opened four different drawers before hearing a voice from the living room go _second one from the top left of the fridge_ . Dorian followed the instructions and found a cup that didn’t look entirely too dirty. He picked it up with a grimace. Since moving to Denerim, student parties had been his main form of social interaction. They were easy to get into and even easier to fit into. The alcohol was always free flowing and the easiest part, among all, were the men. Unfortunately, they did involve _college students_ , and Dorian felt like he was constantly running away from houses that hadn’t seen a vacuum in several generations, dorms with communal showers, and the occasional back of a car that sometimes wasn’t sticky. He walked back to the living room and poured whiskey in the cup, glancing at the notes again. “How can you stand the whole student thing if you’re not a student? These people live like animals.” 

“Cheapest rent I could find,” Cullen answered. He had a feeling there was no need to try and defend his roommates or the state of his house. He didn’t think he was doing any better than any of them. “You, uh…” he started, snapping his fingers at the man sipping whiskey and looking at his failed diagrams of planes, as if trying to remember a name he didn’t know.

“Dorian,” Dorian said. 

“Dorian,” Cullen repeated. He was standing by the door, trying another plug, twisting the cable around. “I think your phone’s broken.”

Dorian raised his head at that, putting down the cup to walk to Cullen. He frowned at it, clicking buttons randomly. He couldn’t remember if anything had happened to it overnight, and if it was hours ago or weeks ago that he’d jumped into a pool with it in his pocket. He usually had a good memory, but was working overtime to make sure he remembered as little as possible these days. “It was working fine earlier,” Dorian said, frowning. “I think.” 

“The battery’s all swollen,” Cullen pointed out. “I don’t think it’ll charge. You could stay the night and take the metro in the morning,” Cullen offered. 

“I need a shower,” Dorian answered, giving the man a look, as if offended at the thought he could be taken for a man that would stay the night. “And I’ve seen yours. I’ll pass. Can I use your phone to order it, and then I’ll stop torturing you while you learn how to fly a plane?”

Cullen nodded and reached for his phone. Its battery was dead, and he rubbed his temples, exhausted by every little thing that _should_ be simple but never was. A little voice at the back of his head informed him that if he couldn’t be bothered to remember to plug in his phone when he got home from work there was little hope he’d ever remember enough to be a pilot. He ignored it and plugged his phone in. He waved at Dorian to sit down. “It’ll just be a minute.”

Dorian pulled a chair and dramatically fell on it, crossing his legs. He looked at his phone and tried hitting it against the table, his palm, and his whiskey cup. Neither worked and he put it down, a slight grimace on his face. It wasn’t a big loss but an inconvenient one, and Dorian had enough inconveniences he pretended didn’t exist already. _What’s one more_ , he told himself, and looked up at Cullen, who had gone back to looking at the scribbles on his notebook as he downed his coffee. There was something quite magnetic about him. Maybe it was the whole pilot shtick, maybe it was the eyebags. Dorian got the feeling that it was not the first time his roommate’s one night stand haunted the living room when he tried to get things done. _What’s one more?_ He crossed his arm on his chest. “James.” 

Cullen raised his eyes at him. “What?”

Dorian put his chin between his thumb and his index, thoughtful. “Not James, then. Christian? Mark? What are some common baby names around here? Philip. Too classic. Logan. No, Logan’s too ugly for such a pretty face. It would break my heart.”

“Cullen,” Cullen said. “My father’s named Logan.” 

Dorian pinched his lips. He opened his mouth to say something, thinking fast on how to apologize without betraying his values and god given right to judge anyone whose name was something stupid like _Logan_ , and realized the spark of amusement in Cullen’s eyes. “So he _does_ have jokes!” Dorian said with a smile. 

“Are you a student yourself?” Cullen asked. He couldn’t tell what it was the man sitting across him had that made him want to have a conversation, but he couldn’t help himself. He had an energy to him, something attractive and mischievous that felt fun and reckless. It was the opposite energy of whatever Cullen imagined he gave off, and incredibly more interesting than the usual bland parade of men that walked in and out of his roommate’s room. It made Cullen curious, and gave him a reason to stop staring at the long paragraphs about aviation his brain struggled to read properly still. 

Dorian moved his hand slightly, a _so-so_ gesture that he thought explained best his situation. “At heart and on paper, yes.” 

Cullen snorted. “Fancy way to say you don’t go to class.”

“And is that such a crime?” Dorian said. “Lord knows med students could use a little bit more _fancy_ .” He gave a light shrug, as he often did when he thought of his own current life situation, and sighed. “I wouldn’t study medicine if I had my pick, and I _will_ have my pick. My family has enough money to put me through 10 different degrees if they cared to do so. My plan is to secure the trust fund money first, and then run away with the cash. You know it is.” Cullen blinked at him, and Dorian continued. “It’s a very dramatic ongoing heist, years in the making. Fascinating family drama if I were to watch it on TV. Living it has a lot less popcorn involved, but at least I never get bored.” 

“Right,” Cullen answered. He was tempted to rub his eyes again to give his brain another chance to admit he was delirious with fatigue and imagining Dorian. He didn’t know what to answer to any of that, and which part to worry about first (the wealth, the family drama, the running away with a trust fund? The _popcorn?_ ) and so he pointed at Dorian’s phone. “I have a bunch of spare batteries I bought in bulk to save money when the same thing happened to my phone. Do you want to see if one works?” 

Dorian looked at him, surprised that the conversation wasn’t going to continue being about him. Not that he expected just about _everyone_ to care about his problems, but most people were at least curious about the wealthy student who ran away from his family and aimed to disappear in a sexy cloud of smoke. “Why not?” Dorian said, watching Cullen nod and get up to open a drawer. “So what is it you do to be in a student house while not a student while studying? Are you from here?” 

Cullen chuckled as he put down a plastic box full of mismatched batteries. He rummaged through his pocket to find his keys and grabbed the little screwdriver attached to them, flipping Dorian’s phone in front of him. “I’m not,” Cullen answered, turning the phone around. “I don’t suppose you know the tiny village of Honnleath?” 

Dorian raised an eyebrow at him. “Surely if you’ve been polite enough not to ask where I’m from, you can imagine I don’t know what an _Honnleath_ is.” 

“You could’ve secretly been studying geography,” Cullen offered. “Although I doubt it’s worth a heist.” Dorian laughed and Cullen smiled, shaking his head as he refocused on the phone. “Honnleath is a village south of Ferelden. That’s where I’m from. I moved out of it when I was a teenager and I’ve been here and there since. I moved to Denerim a few months ago.” Cullen hesitated, but decided to spare Dorian his long life story of chasing any job he could get that would allow him to save money to make it here and through pilot school. It had brought him to strange places all the way to Kirkwall and back, and it was a story for another day and another one night stand. “This is where they have both the pilot school and the jobs. I needed to find housing and this is where I found it.” Cullen looked up at Dorian. “Do you have a credit card or something? I need to open the back of it.” 

Dorian took a second to move, fascinated by the man with the angelic face offering to fix his phone and pulling out a screwdriver from his pocket to do it. He didn’t belong in this house, that much was evident to just about anyone who would care to look, but Dorian imagined that just like himself, Cullen was doing his best with circumstances powerfully stacked against him. He admired that in a man. “Sure,” he eventually answered when he noticed Cullen was frowning at his silence. Dorian grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and handed Cullen his credit card. “Will that do?”

“It’s, uh,” Cullen answered when he grabbed it, surprise clear on his face. He didn’t know how to finish his own sentence and didn’t try to hide it. He didn’t think most people his age would expect something so dark, thick and _heavy_ when asked for a credit card. “Too thick,” he finished. “It needs to fit in there,” Cullen said, pointing at the thin side of the phone. He weighed the credit card in his hand absentmindedly, wondering if he’d ever get to have one that looked like this. His was holding together with tape and he didn’t even dare think of the difference in numbers in their respective bank accounts. Dorian cleared his throat and handed him another card. They swapped in silence, and Cullen glanced at the thin library card with the fancy college logo on it. Dorian looked good in the picture, and Cullen smiled at it. He had just met the man, but somehow, it was the least surprising thing in the world that he could make a student picture look amazing. “What would you study if it weren’t for medicine? Or geography?” 

“Haven’t given it much of a thought yet,” Dorian answered with a smile. “I’ve had to focus on what I _don’t_ want for a while, and figured I’d just find out what I want to do when I can do it.” 

“Makes sense,” Cullen answered. He swiped the card around the phone and the back case popped open. He put the library card down, and realized that no matter what Dorian seemed to hand to him, he was envious of it. Oh, to think of what he would have given for a 24/7 college library with computers that could run practice tests for the entrance exams he was painstakingly preparing on paper. “It’s a shame, it’s a really good college.” 

Dorian shrugged. He could name quite a few things more shameful, but he understood the sentiment. “There’s better colleges in Tevinter,” he answered instead. “Unfortunately, my family is also there, so, you know. Pick your battles.” Cullen gave him a small smile that he couldn’t decipher and so he simply watched him work, unscrewing tiny screws and squinting as he did, tired eyes careful still. He pulled the battery out slowly and started looking for another one in his little box. Dorian laughed, and it made Cullen look up. “Apologies,” Dorian said, poorly concealing his smile by holding his chin with his thumb, his fingers crooked over his lips. “Not only did I not fuck the _hottest_ roommate, I also missed out on the most resourceful one. Exceptional hands you got there.” 

Cullen almost blushed and instead waved off the compliment. “I’m sure your hands could do it too. Just practice and not being able to afford a new phone.”

“My hands have different skills,” Dorian answered. “I’ll show them to you anytime.” 

Cullen was about to answer when they were both interrupted by someone clearing their throat by the door. He looked up to face his roommate, who looked at him with annoyance. “Do you flirt with all my hookups or just the one?” 

Cullen opened his mouth to apologize and closed it after a second. He picked a battery that matched from the box and shook his head, mirroring the annoyance. He didn’t have an horrendous relationship with his roommates, but they didn’t understand him or try to. They didn’t have anything in common, and he imagined he wasn’t the most fun to be around. It made certain things difficult for reasons he couldn’t quite understand. Maybe he _was_ the hottest man in the house. He had never thought of it that way, or at all. He wished that was his biggest worry. It would’ve been a refreshing change of pace. “If only you were as protective of your boyfriend,” Cullen said, but he sounded more tired than mean.

His roommate glanced at Dorian, who snorted in answer. “Oh, I knew,” he said, his voice light and cheery. “I may be easy but I am not stupid.” The man pointed at the phone, and Dorian shrugged. “Cullen offered.”

“Doesn’t he have work to do for a school he can’t afford?” 

Dorian didn’t give Cullen a chance to respond and instead clicked his tongue, a _tsk-tsk_ that he knew annoyed the man he’d spent the night with. In many ways, all boys with rich families were the same. “Someone getting an education on mommy and daddy’s money should never brag about it,” Dorian said. “It’s in poor taste.” He saw Cullen hide a smile from the corner of his eyes and his own grew bigger. “Plus, if you’ve got the money to go to this college I have to assume the slight mold in your bathroom is a personal choice and not an economical one, which gives you even less ground to stand on. _Shoo_.” The man grunted but left without a word, and Dorian wondered if he had come here to ask him to go back to bed, or to have conversation, or to simply annoy Cullen. All three of these options were ridiculous, and Dorian would be happy to leave and never see him again. He barely remembered his name. “He should spend less time being jealous of your good looks and more time worrying about the fact I’m about 87% sure his boyfriend showed up to the party we left from.” 

“Not my problem,” Cullen answered. He knew he was a bad fit for the house, be it in terms of work hours or lifestyle, but _jealousy_ he wouldn’t have expected from living with pretty much anyone. He finished tightening up a screw and his cup of coffee-flavored whiskey in one gesture and slid the phone to Dorian. “It probably won’t turn on right away and needs charging, but I hope it works in the morning.” 

Dorian clinked his cup against Cullen’s and downed the rest of his whiskey. “Not how I expected the end of my night to go, but I’ll take it.” Cullen smiled and reached for his phone. He asked Dorian for his address, and Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Do you have plans to come over?”

Cullen blinked at him. “The taxi?”

“Oh. Right,” Dorian answered. He had lost track of why he’d come in the living room in the first place, drawn to a pretty boy with a shy smile and broad shoulders like a moth to a flame, and he gave Cullen his address. Cullen raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment on the fancy neighborhood, and Dorian let the moment pass. He would not explain to Cullen that no matter where he spent the night, he would not go through the horrifying _student_ experience nor did he seek it. He belonged in a flat that had a bathtub. “Well, you know, feel free to show up anytime.” 

“Taxi will be here in 3 minutes.” Dorian nodded but kept staring, and Cullen frowned. “Why would I show up to your house?” 

Dorian looked back at him and their eyes locked for a second. They didn’t seem to quite speak the same language, and Dorian understood that Cullen felt he had little to offer to him and nothing he wanted from him. Dorian didn’t believe it to be true, and maybe it was his imagination mulling over a pretty boy, but there was kinship to be found in being alone and away from family in a place neither of them knew. Or maybe he was just too drunk still. “I don’t know. For a drink. Freedom from your roommate. A kitchen that has a clean oven and an air fryer.” 

Cullen snorted, putting a hand to his heart and faking shock. “You’re telling me you’re not gonna be around here again?” 

Dorian smiled and got up, heading for the door. He had seen enough of the house, and felt like fresh air would help clear his head. The many thoughts in it, family and hook ups and college and money and pretty helpful strangers mixed up together at once circled in it, painting a picture Dorian had trouble making sense of. “Piece of advice for you, dear Cullen: never suck the same dick twice.”

“I will… keep that in mind,” Cullen said, and watched Dorian wave at him as he left, whistling a little in the hallway. He heard the door close and turned back around to his books. He sat down and noticed the library card. He scrambled to get up, running behind Dorian. When he reached the street, the taxi was driving away. “Fuck,” Cullen breathed out, looking at the tiny piece of plastic in his hands. Dorian’s picture stared back at him, and he sighed. Maybe he _would_ show up to his flat as Dorian had offered. After all, Cullen had always been up for a drink.

**_***_ **

Cullen parked his bicycle down the imposing apartment building. He didn’t know which flat was Dorian’s or how to get anywhere from here, having remembered the number and street only, and he felt completely out of place in the fancy neighborhood. Everything here was clean, shiny. Even the random pedestrians seemed to dress better. Cullen could tell that the very same sandwich he bought every day was at least a couple dollars more expensive than on his side of town. He had no particular feeling on the matter. He knew his sister would spit on the ground in front of every expensive store’s doors on principle, but he had no energy to get mad at the fact certain people had money and he did not. He was too busy trying to make that very money. Perhaps it also had to do with the fleeting dream that if he ever became a captain like he had always wanted, he would belong in those neighborhoods. He wondered if he would ever get used to it, forget what it was to add a second padlock to his bike because he couldn’t afford getting it stolen and it was his sole method of transportation. 

He walked to the door of the building, holding his helmet in his hands. He pushed one of the big glass doors and was met by a security agent. Cullen almost left at the sight, feeling stupid and underdressed. Who would even rob one of those flats? He couldn’t think of a single burglar that would think it was worth the trouble. “Hello,” he said as he walked past. The security guard nodded at him and he paused, unsure what the procedure was and if he was just allowed to keep going. If he wasn’t stopped, did the security guard stop anyone? Was it just based on their looks? Did that ever protect anyone? “I’m coming to see Dorian Pavus.” The security guard stared back at him, and Cullen made his way to the elevators without another word. He backtracked right before the doors closed on him. “Do you know which flat he lives in?” 

The security guard gave him a strange look. “Seventh floor,” he said. 

Cullen thanked him and clicked on the _7_ with a careful finger. He was worried about breaking anything and being responsible for covering it. The elevator took him up and as he stepped out of it, he looked around the hallway. There were only two doors, which he was thankful for because he had no idea where to go next. It probably also meant the apartment would be huge, but Cullen had expected that much. He walked to the first door on his left and tried to listen in for noises that would give a hint as to who lived there. He walked to the other door after silence answered his question, and heard a voice he recognized. He thanked God for small blessings and pressed the doorbell. He waited, rubbing his neck nervously, unsure if Dorian would even remember him. 

The door opened widely and Dorian looked at him. He was holding a glass bottle of beer in one hand and a phone in the other. Someone was shouting at him from the other side of it. “One second,” he said to it dismissively, and put the phone on his chest, covering the microphone. “You? Here? It must be my birthday.”

Cullen gave him a shy laugh and reached in his pocket for the library card he’d meant to give back a week ago. His jobs had worked him to death the past few days and he hadn’t been able to find a minute to himself, much less what it took to bike halfway across the city. “I have-”

“Please, come on in,” Dorian said. “Shoes!” He added, disappearing in the flat. He expected Cullen to follow and close the door behind him, and put the phone back against his ear. He had been begging for someone, _something_ to put him out of his misery, and God had for once answered his spiteful prayers. “Mother, I have a guest. I’ll call you back.” _Who is it?_ “You don’t know him.” _Him?_ “Yes, him. They have men in this country, you know?” _I knew we couldn’t trust you. I knew you’d-_ “You invented promises I have not made to make yourself feel better about the fact you knew I was always going to leave. None of that is my problem.” _Dorian, you-_ “Goodbye!” He said cheerily as he clicked the button to hang up. He threw the phone on his couch and turned to Cullen.

Cullen had left his shoes by the door and felt stupid, standing there in his socks. He focused on where he was and looked around the flat, trying not to listen to what obviously wasn’t a pleasant conversation. He couldn’t imagine the price of the place, and wondered if Dorian had picked it himself or if it was just another example of wealth passed down generations. He didn’t know the man well, but he wouldn’t have pictured him in something so… cold. It was fancy, and everything looked expensive and pretty and new, but the walls were empty, the bookshelves painfully deserted, the kitchen so clean it seemed no one was ever using it. It was stylish, the furniture shades of grey and the walls off-white. A giant glass window let the sun in and gave Cullen a brand new view of the city. He was trying to find his shitty place when he realized the silence had come back and turned back to look at Dorian watching him. He felt a blush creep up his cheek, and got worried for an instant that Dorian would be able to hear his thoughts. “If this is the wrong time-” 

“Believe me, it could not be a better time,” Dorian said. “I accidentally picked up the phone and thought I’d have to listen to my mother talk at me for the rest of the day. People think I talk a lot, but they have not met this woman. I needed a reason to hang up or she’d try to call a neighbor and tell them to come ring at my door so she could continue her tirade.” Dorian sighed. “You are a sight for sore eyes. Or ears, as it stands.” 

Cullen nodded like he understood. His family was not the _I’ll call you_ type, and his sister was the only one that insisted to keep them all together. They had no ill feelings, they were just all busy, all doing something else, all content with checking in here and there, sleeping well knowing that no news equaled good news. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Cullen said, feeling like he had to acknowledge the glint of fury and sadness in Dorian’s eyes. Cullen wondered if they were always that expressive, and had a feeling that it was the case. Dorian seemed proud and honest, two qualities Cullen respected perhaps more than any other. “Happy I could help, I guess.” 

“Do you want something to drink?” Dorian asked, walking to his kitchen, fluffy slippers sliding slightly on the cold floor. He opened his fridge and looked at it. “I have a bunch of just about everything.”

Cullen came closer and looked at how packed it was. Most of it was drinks, and it confirmed his thoughts that maybe the reason why Dorian had been frowning at their dirty glasses and cups was that he so rarely used his he’d forgotten that new and clean were two different things. He put his bike helmet down on a table nearby carefully. “I’ll take a beer.” 

Dorian handed him one and took another one for himself as well. He opened both with a snap of his wrist, still raw from the never ending conversation with his mother. Cullen was looking at him in silence, and Dorian crossed his arms on his chest. “What do your parents think of you moving so far away from them to make it in the big city?”

“They’re dead,” Cullen answered. 

“Oh,” Dorian said. “Well. Siblings, then?” He continued, refusing to have his question ignored.

Cullen stared at Dorian. The intensity of his stare didn’t waver, and Cullen decided to match it. He was almost happy to avoid the usual _oh, I’m sorry- no, no, it’s been a while, condolences, don’t worry_ exchange. “What do my siblings think? Not much.” He paused as he caught his reflection on the fridge and tried to rearrange curls that had been tousled by his helmet. He felt stupid again, and stupider still when he realized Dorian was staring at him, his face saying _and?_. Cullen looked around, as if he would find inspiration in the white walls, and sighed. “That’s it. Not much. My older sister tries to get me to call more.” He waved it away, as if she was going to appear out of thin air and bother him about it. “I can do what I want, they’re happy if it works out. They’re used to me being gone. I’m used to being away.” 

“That’s it?” 

“That’s it.” 

Dorian made a face, unhappy about the answer. He wanted to force Cullen to ask a question, or say anything about what he’d overheard except _sorry_. Something about him told Dorian that it wasn’t that he didn’t care or didn’t want to listen, but he was respectful in an annoying way, refusing to pry on something that clearly didn’t pertain to him. Dorian wanted what he always wanted, which was nothing but to talk to whoever was in front of him about whatever internal conflict he was going through at the moment. He refused to trust a therapist or anyone qualified to listen with thoughts he didn’t need validation on. He knew he was right to leave, he knew he was right not to come back, he knew his parents would never be worth his time, he knew that he would never be what they wanted, he knew the pain of it, he knew of his love for them and their love for a Dorian that didn’t exist no matter how hard they insisted on it. Would the therapist? The finality of his choices constantly stared back at him. He found some sort of vindication in letting everyone else know. He propped himself up on the counter of his kitchen and looked around. “You hate the flat, don’t you?” 

“What? No, no, I-” Cullen started, but when he looked at Dorian and his little smile, he realized the man not only wouldn’t take offense but might, very simply, agree. “It beats a student house,” Cullen said. “I think you should decorate.” 

“I don’t know how to,” Dorian said.

Cullen frowned. “You seem like a man with good taste. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Dorian waved away the compliment. “Taste is not the issue. This whole place is bland because it is meaningless to me. When I told my parents I was moving out of the country, at least for a little while, they bought me it. I think part of it was to know where I’d be living, the other part was a gesture of good will,” Dorian said. “They want me to know that I can go away, for a while, but anywhere I’ll go is thanks to them. It’s not home.”

“You could make it home,” Cullen offered.

“If it was that easy, my walls wouldn’t be so empty,” Dorian answered, frustrated. “Home is not about decoration. And decoration is all about home.” 

Cullen didn’t know how to answer that, knowing the word ran deeper for Dorian than for him. He knew he was missing something, and wasn’t good at pretending otherwise. Even if he had been, he wouldn't insult Dorian by acting like people in Denerim didn't have all sorts of opinions on Tevinter and its people. What was true and what was not was not something Cullen had ever worried about. “Your parents didn’t want you to leave?” Cullen asked cautiously, sipping on his beer, holding the library card in his hand still, flipping it between his fingers. 

Dorian shook his head slightly. “There is little that I want that _they_ want. Pavus means little here, but it means a lot back home. Men of my family carry it with pride.” 

“But you don’t?” 

“I understood early on I had to pick which things I wanted to be proud of,” Dorian answered. “I chose me.” 

Cullen raised his bottle to him. Surprise passed on Dorian’s face but he composed himself quickly enough, something he was evidently good at, and their bottles clinked. “Good job,” Cullen said. “It takes strength and courage to break away from tradition like that.” 

“When unhappiness is passed on generation after generation as if it is an authentic family value to transmit to your children before anything else, you owe it to yourself to do something about it,” Dorian said with a smile. He looked at the man over his beer as he took a sip from it, wondering what _his_ story was. Surely it wasn’t as boring as he was making it sound. They were both from somewhere else, and had both come to the city alone, to live in places they didn’t want to live in, to do something they couldn’t quite grasp yet. Maybe they had more in common than either of them even knew. Dorian knew too well that he would always be lonely about certain things, and that he had done more than _just_ change address, but if he was to follow through with his plans of freedom, there was settling to be done with the problems of another country. They seemed silly and trivial to him, but he was not yet drunk or upset enough to corner Cullen about it. It was a bad habit he didn't want to get rid of just yet. Not until he could enter a room in another country and not feel like he had brought two centuries worth of political nonsense stranger's believed about Tevinter with him. And so he nodded at Cullen. “What’s your story? Just _not much_?” 

“Nothing as grave,” Cullen answered. “Really, my family gets along just fine, we just aren’t that close. I have siblings I should talk to more, but I left the house too young and grew apart from them. Wish there was something to be passed down generations, but unfortunately, aside from debt, there’s little. I’ve always wanted to be a pilot, so I moved here, where I could be closer to the school. I’m working jobs here and there and saving up for it one dollar at a time.” 

“You’ve told me this already,” Dorian said. “I can't be the only one oversharing with a stranger. Go on. Nothing else you want to do?” 

Cullen frowned, upset by the question. He had been asked about it too many times. _Just settle for something else._ “It’s what I want to do,” Cullen answered. “I’ll see it through.” 

“I didn’t mean you shouldn’t,” Dorian amended. “Just wondering if there was anything else you were interested in.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Cullen said, worried now that he’d been too brash. “It’s just… I’ve been told over and over again that if I can’t afford it I should just move on and try my hand at a different job. Nice words that all mean, well, _just give up_. Do something else. You’ll find something. It’s stupid. I have a different job. At the moment, I have three!” He could feel himself getting riled up and made himself calm down, refusing to argue about this with himself in Dorian’s kitchen. “I’ve refused myself many things to work towards this, so I’ll just work towards it until I have it. It’s the only thing that matters to me.” Dorian nodded and raised his bottle, mimicking his early gesture, and Cullen raised his as well, a small smile on his lips. “I haven’t had a minute of free time in ten years. Too late to go back now. I’m closer to it every day. I went to that boarding school to have the best education I could, it’s the one thing my parents could help me pay. The little village where I’m from doesn’t have much of anything, and there’s nothing for me there. I’ve worked hard. There’s so many more steps but I’m taking them one by one and I’ll make it there. I don’t care for anything else.”

“And I command you for your perseverance,” Dorian said, bowing slightly. “So, what brings you to this miserable part of town?” 

Cullen handed the library card with a jolt. He’d forgotten the reason for his own visit. “You forgot this when you were at the house.”

Dorian looked at the card. To think of Cullen biking all the way over here and finding time in his busy schedule to give him back a _library card_ , knowing he didn’t go to class, made him feel some type of way. “Is that only why you’re here?” 

“Yes,” Cullen answered. 

“Really?” Dorian said.

Cullen wondered if he was leading Dorian on, but didn’t know how to approach the subject without hurting both of their feelings, and so he simply nodded again, slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t want you to think you’d lost it or something.”

“I’ve never even stepped foot in this library,” Dorian said. “I went to campus the first week out of curiosity and I haven’t come back since.” 

“Oh,” Cullen said. “Waste of an expensive tuition,” he added, looking at the library card. 

“I had them refund it to my bank account,” Dorian answered. Cullen choked on his beer and it spilled on his chin. He wiped it with the back of his hand as Dorian laughed. “I told you it was a heist!” 

“Won’t your parents know?” Cullen said, thinking again about Dorian’s credit card. He wasn’t entirely sure of the amount it represented, but he didn’t want to know. This was money he would never have unless a bank finally let him take out a loan with his shit credit score and his family’s even worse debts, and it wouldn’t even cover the entire time he’d have to be at school to qualify as a pilot. He was getting close to having enough savings for the medical exam to check he _could_ become a pilot in the first place. “That much money doesn’t just disappear.”

“You’d think so,” Dorian answered with a shrug. “At some point of wealth, you kind of stop counting your money. It’s a lot to you, and it’s going to have to be a lot to me when they realize I’m not coming back and freeze my accounts, but it’s meaningless to them. They’d pay this much tenfold if it guaranteed I’d follow the path of becoming a doctor, moving back, marrying a woman they like, befriending the children of their friends, become a respectable member of their exclusive little important circle, having kids of my own, keep the legacy alive no matter what, carry on high society’s favorite pastime of traumatizing children into becoming their parents come hell or high water. Or homosexuality. Or different interests. Or just the desire to have a brain of their own. The usual terrible crimes children can commit and be silly enough to insist on.” 

“So what’s the plan?” Cullen asked, slightly overwhelmed but making a brave effort to take the man head on. He didn't know if he really needed to talk or was just always like that, and it felt rude to ask. Either way, Cullen was curious now. 

“The plan,” Dorian said, raising his beer in the air, thoughtful, “is to gather as money as I can in this bank account they don’t know about, and burn my phone and just tip the security guard to never let them in the building when they eventually come here to put a leash on me and drag me back.” Cullen blinked at him and Dorian pouted. “It’s a shame, really. I usually love a good leash.”

“Your security guard told me where you live,” Cullen answered. “He didn’t even ask who I was. Took one look at me and was like, _seventh floor_. I don’t think you should trust him with security. I’d do a better job than him with a wooden stick.” 

Dorian laughed at that, imagining Cullen shooing away visitors back to the street, standing in front of the elevators with arms outreached to protect the residents from unwanted blondes shyly carrying bicycle helmets. “I don’t know how to explain to you that you look very non-threatening. And I don’t mean that you’re a white man who _could_ confidently walk in any private property, I mean that you’re wearing tight blue biker shorts.” 

Cullen looked down at himself, suddenly self conscious. He was still in his socks, and he was almost convinced the sole of his left foot had a hole in it. “I biked here,” he answered, as if it explained the outfit. 

“I sure hope so,” Dorian answered. “I didn’t think you were wearing biker shorts because you thought you were being fashion forward, and I know _for a fact_ that you’re not wearing them just for my viewing pleasure.” Cullen blushed crimson, and Dorian smiled, shaking his head. “But thank you for the view nonetheless.” 

Cullen cleared his throat and adjusted his posture, too aware of his own legs now, not quite knowing what to do with them or the fact Dorian had been looking. He wasn’t offended or uncomfortable, but he so rarely paid attention to these things that the thought felt foreign. “So you don’t want the library card?”

“Keep it,” Dorian said, jumping down from the counter. He moved to the living room, Cullen following. He thought giving him something to do with his muscly legs would help him forget he had those. Dorian sat on the couch and reached for the bag that rested against it. “I’ve seen you try and study in your house. You’d make a better use of it than I would.”

Cullen looked at Dorian’s picture. From his tan skin to the earring to the makeup, Cullen didn’t know how to even _evoque_ the same thing as Dorian did. “We look nothing alike.”

Dorian glanced at him. “You’re telling me _this_ is your real hair?” He gasped, eyes wide with fake shock. Cullen sent him a look that said _very funny_. Dorian reached for the front pocket of his bag and pulled out a student card. He threw it at Cullen, who caught it easily. He was too good looking for his own good, Dorian thought, but he knew that if he made one more compliment he’d have to explain the embarrassed pile of ashes in his living room to the police. “No one checks the pictures on either of these. People don’t pay that much money per semester to be scrutinized when they enter the library. You’ll be fine.” 

“Are you sure?” Cullen asked. 

“Please,” Dorian said, throwing his bag back on the floor. “I have no interest in coming back to this university. If I wanted to study, I’d be elsewhere. You were right, it is a waste of an expensive tuition. You’d make good use of it.” 

Cullen stared at the two cards together, the name on it so evidently not his. He believed Dorian when he assured him that they wouldn’t check, but he’d never been quite the criminal, and wondered if he really could pull it off. “What happens if they do check?”

“They’ll say, sir, will you take your bike shorts and plastic helmet and cheap bike away from campus and not come back?” Cullen rolled his eyes and Dorian smiled as he continued, “and knowing what I know of you, you’ll go, ‘yes, I am so sorry, you will never see me again, I am sorry sir.’. And that’s that.” Cullen still looked unconvinced, and Dorian shrugged at him. “It’s one thing to steal a library card, it’s another thing to have the matching student card. You’ll be fine. They never check.”

“Maybe I’ll try that, then,” Cullen said, putting the cards in his wallet like they were precious little things. “I don’t know how to thank you, I-”

“You fixed my phone,” Dorian answered, picking it up from the couch. “It did work after a good charge. Call it even.” 

Cullen nodded, happy he had helped, happy about the idea of having a place to study that was quiet and accessible, happy to have met Dorian. He was unlike anyone he’d ever met before. He made Cullen want to stick around, to know more, to ask more questions and listen to more answers. He looked a little sad, too, just like him. He wouldn’t have described himself as such and it reminded Cullen of himself, who was good at pretending he forgot that he was overworked and overwhelmed on his best days. He would never mention it. They both had chosen this life, and they were sticking to it. Come hell or high water. “Thank you, Dorian.” 

“I know you’re a busy man, and I've already talked your ears off,” Dorian started, looking thoughtfully at Cullen. Something about him, something about him. “But would you free up an evening for me? Get a drink, clear both our heads?” 

Cullen smiled at the question, a smile he felt all the way up to his ears. He’d left a lot of friends, back home and in Kirkwall, to come here and follow his silly dream, and he hadn’t realized until Dorian had offered that he did miss them, he did miss the company, he did miss having someone to call, someone to go to, someone to take care of and check up on. “I would love that,” he said. Dorian smiled back, and Cullen looked at his phone. “Not now, though, because I have to be at work in about thirty minutes, and then I have another shift when I’m done with that one, but-”

“Whenever you have time,” Dorian said, cutting him before he stuttered his way into apologies about his insane planning. “Surely they give you days off.” 

“All at once, actually,” Cullen answered, chuckling, embarrassed a little still. “I put my work hours all on the same day to have two whole days off.”

“So you can study?” Dorian asked.

Cullen bit his lip. “So I can study.” 

“You know, people usually wait until they’re _in_ school to do the studying. How much of a headstart are you trying to get?” 

“When I get the loan for the school, I’ll still have to pay rent, and it’ll be full time studying so I’ll just have to work in the evenings or at night or on the weekends. If I study now, I’ll have less to study then. Plus entrance exams are coming up, and I’d like to participate this year, at least to assess my level, so I don’t have _that_ much time,” Cullen explained. Dorian stared at him and he cleared his throat. “It makes sense. I promise.”

“Alright, captain,” Dorian answered. He got up to grab Cullen’s phone out of his hands and entered his number in it. “Just holler at me when you have a minute. Don’t want anything fancy, you can just come around and we’ll make do with what I have.”

Cullen chuckled. What Dorian had _was_ fancy. He couldn’t imagine much fancier. “You’re gonna _use_ that kitchen? No way?”

“I can cook,” Dorian said, crossing his arms on his chest. “I am simply no competition for the restaurants I order from. They’re much better than me, believe it or not.” 

“No, I kind of want to see you dirty that kitchen a little bit,” Cullen said. Dorian opened his mouth and Cullen raised a threatening finger in front of him. “You’re gonna make a joke about having sex in the kitchen. I’ve ignored all the other ones. I’ll ignore this one too.”

Dorian laughed. “You already know me so well.”

“Yeah, you’re a walking mystery,” Cullen said, shaking his head, but he was smiling. He walked to the table he’d put his helmet on and grabbed it, twisting it in his hands absentmindedly. “I’ll try to free up some time soon. Maybe…” He sighed. “Maybe I don’t need to study _every evening_.” 

“A novel concept, I’m sure,” Dorian answered. He accompanied Cullen to the door and opened it for him. “Thanks for not stealing my library card,” he said. “I like an honest man.” 

Cullen called the elevator and smiled back at Dorian. “That’s me,” he said, and it made Dorian laugh. The sound was soft and pleasant, and when Cullen walked in the elevator, waving goodbye, it seemed to follow him all the way down.


	3. champagne problems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you saw this chapter and then saw it got deleted and reposted just ask ao3's draft system about it bc i'm not responsible

> _I will take fate by the throat. It will never bend me completely to its will._
> 
> _-_ Ludwig van Beethoven

**17 YEARS AGO**

“Will you really not let me celebrate? At all? Not even a little bit?” 

“No, I won’t!” Cullen said, for what felt like the hundredth time, annoyed. He was pacing in the living room, refusing to look at Dorian, sitting at his living room table with his computer in front of him. It had taken Cullen years to gather all the necessary documents, the money, the energy, the time, and now that he had passed those entrance exams and scored the highest score he could, he didn’t know what to do with them. “Just today another bank refused me a loan. Those results are meaningless if I can’t actually go to the fucking school.” 

“Cullen,” Dorian started. 

“No,” Cullen repeated, angry now. “There’s no _Cullen_! Good for me, I qualify! Tough shit, I can’t pay! That’s all there is!” 

Dorian looked at the man taking laps in his living room and closed his laptop with a sigh. They had known each other for close to a year now, and he had gotten used to the sight, but it usually implied Cullen forcing him to shoot questions at him as fast as possible and throw something at his face if he answered wrong. They had become friends faster than either of them had expected, united against the forces of a town they didn’t know and a life they were fighting for. Dorian’s fight was a lot less dramatic than his at the moment, considering most of what he did was fuck, drink, online shop for meaningless things, and wait. Wait until the other shoe dropped, until his family grew suspicious enough to cause trouble, until he’d be forced to cut them off for good. He knew he could’ve been preparing harder for the event, but he had lost the plot of his own life and goals, and he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing at all. He missed studying but didn't want to focus on anything until he was free, he didn't want to drink as much as he did but had nothing else to do, he didn't care for the men he picked up but was too lonely for a cold bed. He wouldn’t be convinced to go back home, but there was little that mattered to him here, except for the blond man pacing in front of him. Cullen had goals that made sense, a purpose that Dorian could set his compass to, at least for the time being. And so he did. Cullen was North, and Dorian followed. “This is a victory! That means you can do it again! You’ll find the loan,” Dorian said. “Someone will give you an outrageous interest rate and you’ll say yes.”

Cullen paused to look at Dorian. “You’ve never had to take up a loan, have you?” Dorian stared back at him and Cullen sighed, rubbing his face with his hands, tired and upset. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m taking it out on you when you’ve been nothing but helpful.” 

“I don’t mind,” Dorian answered, “as long as I can drink champagne to celebrate in my corner at the same time.”

Cullen raised his head from his palms, pointing his finger at him menacingly. He was upset but not _that_ upset. “You are _not_ drinking your expensive champagne without me.”

“Oh, you’re back! That’s my man!” Dorian said excitedly. He got up and walked to his kitchen. Two plates were still in the sink from the night before, and Dorian sighed at them. He was not entirely against _living_ in the apartment he existed in, but Cullen was just as bad as him at doing the dishes and he was against his will starting to understand why college students’ houses looked the way they did. He picked two glasses from the cupboard above his head and slid them between his fingers. He grabbed the champagne he’d been keeping in the fridge and walked back to the living room. Cullen was standing over the computer, staring at the same page they’d been arguing about for thirty minutes. “For the last time, no, darling, you’re not dreaming. Yes, I need help with the glasses.” 

Cullen shook himself out of his trance. He was angry at his continuous lack of money and the consequences of it, but once the anger passed, the results were still here. Mia’s seventeen excited texts were still there, and his own bubbling pride was making its way up. _I’m not dreaming_. Cullen rushed to get the glasses out of Dorian’s fingers. Dorian handed him the bottle and he took it carefully. “Should I be the one opening it?”

“I’m not the one that got into pilot school,” Dorian answered. 

“You did quiz me for a week and I know it bored you to death,” Cullen said. 

“Yes, yes, it was awful, you are boring me to death, and I almost kicked you out eight and a half times. I’ll open another one to celebrate my own freedom,” Dorian answered.

Cullen blinked at him. “Only eight and a half times? What's the half that convinced you to let me stay? Wait, don't tell me.” Dorian looked at him and Cullen smiled, a big, stupid smile, with all of his teeth. “My good looks and relentless optimism.” 

Dorian rolled his eyes and moved forward, pushing the bottle against Cullen’s chest. “That’s nine. Open this and then you're out of here.” 

Cullen laughed as he wrapped his hand around the cork and pushed slowly, twisting the cap as the pressure pushed it up. Dorian shouted at him to let it go already and he allowed him this, opening his hand. The cork flew directly into the TV and Cullen yelped as it dangerously shook on its stand. Champagne spilled everywhere, spraying the couch and creating a bubbly pool at his feet. “I hope I didn’t kill your TV. I can’t afford to replace it.”

“You’re an idiot,” Dorian answered, grabbing the two glasses from the table and letting Cullen fill them up. “Alright, angel, I’m gonna give you one more minute to just air out your frustration and I don’t want to hear anymore complaining tonight. You can start again where you left off in the morning.”

Cullen took in a breath. He looked at the bubbles fly up his glass, and back at Dorian, who had been a help so invaluable he had no idea how he had been holding up without his constant support, his stupid jokes and his neverending comments on just about anything from Cullen’s hair ( _if I give you hair gel will you promise to look up how to style it_ ) to how to fly a plane ( _Why aren’t all the radio codes simpler if they want you to remember them like that? Why isn’t 'help, oh no, the plane is pointing down instead of up, I’m dying', something like 111?)._ Cullen was happy. “You know what? I’m good,” Cullen said. “Thank you, Dorian. Again. For everything.”

“At your service, Captain,” Dorian said. Cullen opened his mouth and Dorian rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know, it’s not Captain yet. I’ve heard you say it the first three thousand times. Believe it or not, I might have been listening a couple of these times.” 

“The distinction matters!” Cullen protested, but they were both smiling. If someone had told him that he would find one of the best friends he’d ever have in this big city he was still struggling to find his footing in after meeting him at 2am post fucking his roommate, he wouldn’t have believed it. Yet here they were, struggling to imagine where else they’d be tonight if not celebrating together what months of hard work had led up to. “I don’t know what to study now that I’m done with the entrance exams.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something,” Dorian said. He had been reading over Cullen’s shoulders whenever the man studied in his living room instead of going all the way to the library, and had become quite fascinated with planes himself. They found compromise in order to spend time together, and after Cullen had put him through a full season of _Air Crash Investigations_ while drinking on a Monday evening, Dorian had decided that maybe, just _maybe_ , to Cullen’s delight and his own despair, he enjoyed the whole thing. He understood Cullen’s passion, and it was communicative. “I’m going to need something to read, anyway, so you better.” 

Cullen chuckled. The champagne had gotten to his nose, making it all tingly, and he rubbed the top of it. “Maybe you should become a pilot, too. Maybe that’s the thing you need.”

Dorian laughed at that, the thought somehow silly. “That’s not the _worst_ thing I could do to my parents.” 

“Airlines are always recruiting,” Cullen answered, watching Dorian finish his drink. He poured him another one. “You’ll need a job, eventually.”

“I don’t think I could stand sitting there for hours. Nothing to do. One person to talk to. What if they start talking about politics and I have to start brawling in there? I don’t think I have the diplomacy required to be a pilot. I’ll just go mad. Or drive my dear copilot mad. Or both. The more the merrier.” 

Cullen rolled his eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

“To you, perhaps!” Dorian said, punching him in the shoulder lightly. “It is a crime in many countries to lock me up behind a metal door like this. I _must_ be witnessed.”

“Be a steward, then,” Cullen answered. “I’m sure you’ll get drunk on the power of having the little plane interphone to address all your passengers.” 

Dorian smiled. “Tell you what, if by the time you make it to flight school, I’m still doing nothing with my life except abuse my trust fund kid privileges, I'll consider it.” 

“I've seen how you live,” Cullen answered. "I'll see you in the plane."

Dorian pushed Cullen away lightly, a tap on the shoulder that made Cullen chuckle. “Bet.” Dorian opened his mouth to say something else and was promptly interrupted by his bell ringing. He frowned and walked to the door, talking as he went. “Are you staying over tonight?”

“This couch is more comfortable than my bed,” Cullen said. “And I can’t bike back drunk.”

“How many times will I have to remind you I have a _guest room_ ,” Dorian started, looking through the peephole. The face that stared back at him made him jump backwards in surprise. It shouldn’t have, but champagne spilled on the floor still. He heard Cullen ask if everything was okay and didn’t quite know how to answer. Was anything? “It’s my father,” Dorian said, his voice a whisper. 

Cullen put his glass down and followed him to the door, as if there was something he could do. He had talked with Dorian about his family extensively, the man never shy about it and always happy to discuss where he was from and the complexities it came with. Cullen tried to be as neutral as he could be, by which he meant he had promised not to drop kick either of his parents if they ever showed up, and his heart had broken many times hearing Dorian talk about a country he missed so much, family he didn’t know how he loved still, expectations he would never meet and problems forced on him that he refused to have. He was a proud man, through and through, refusing himself self doubt and questioning. Cullen admired how he stood so tall and so convinced. Dorian had built a fortress around his heart, created his own religion out of the rubble in it. He would not see himself denied. And yet. He was haunted still, no matter how far he ran away. Ghosts were, after all, known to go through walls. 

Cullen spoke softly. “Do you want me to open the door and tell him he has the wrong address?” 

Dorian looked at him, almost in disbelief. Of course. Of course Cullen would say something so stupid and so kind, so helpful and ridiculous at the same time. This was the friend he had made, someone who had accepted he would never understand what he went through but was stubbornly there anyway, fists raised, ready to fight his demons and everyone else's as he always had been. Cullen was a strong ally to have in more ways than one, by his side where Dorian thought no one would bother to stand. Still, Cullen was clueless, and no amount of good intentions could change what was about to happen. “Cullen, I’m pretty sure he heard us. My father is many things but never stupid, and he is, after all, the one who bought the flat. I think he knows which one it is.” 

“You could have moved out,” Cullen said, as the bell rang again. “I’ll be really convincing.”

Dorian shook his head, somber. His life was catching up to him at a speed he had only known once before, the first time his parents had realized he liked men a little too much. Keeping a secret from his parents was a car crash in slow motion up until the moment the car hit the wall. It was inevitable but while it was slow he could pretend the collision wouldn’t hurt as much. His father rang the bell again. The wall had arrived at his door, and he was reminded once more that he would do nothing but break all of his bones against it. 

“This had to happen at some point,” Dorian said with finality. He put his hand on the handle and twisted it, forcing his voice back into something cheery and curling his mouth into a smile. He flung the door open and didn’t wait for his father to say anything. “To what do I owe the honor?” 

“Dorian,” his father said. He looked at Cullen, frowned, and looked back at his son. “We need to talk.”

Dorian’s smile grew bigger and colder at once. “I know you love to live in the past, but we do have phones to do that. There is no need to ruin the planet by flying all the way here.”

“You haven’t been to university,” Halward said, his eyes going to Cullen once more. “I was there. They said you’re not even a student.” 

“Cat’s out the bag,” Dorian answered, throwing his hands in the air, impossibly cheery still. “You weren’t meant to find out like this. It was meant to be a surprise.”

“ _Dorian_ ,” Halward insisted. “Let me come in. This isn’t a joke.”

“Nothing ever is with you,” Dorian answered as his forced smile disappeared from his face. They looked at each other. They looked nothing alike, the shadow of their familial bond running deeper than appearances. Dorian was his mother’s son, he had her nose, her eyes, her lips, he was pretty like her, but it stopped there. His heart was complicated and raw like his father, and it took knowing them both to realize they were unmistakably related. It had taken a lot of hard work for Dorian to separate himself from that, from the child that wanted nothing but to be like his dad. “I don’t want you to come in. If you have something to say, you can say it here. Can’t imagine it’ll take more than a minute.”

“You’re coming back home,” his father answered.

“There you go,” Dorian said, looking at Cullen. “See? Not even a minute.” Cullen stared back at him, not knowing what to say. Dorian watched him take a step closer still, silent support, letting him know that no one would enter if he didn’t want them to. The thought angered him, and Dorian turned back to his father. “No.”

“We had a deal. We let you go abroad, you studied, you came back. Distance would do everyone some good, and we’d fix it like that. You’ve broken every agreement we made, and abused our trust and money, and we’re taking you back. This is ridiculous.” Halward pointed at Cullen. “Who even is he?”

“A friend,” Dorian answered. 

“A friend?”

Dorian gripped the doorframe a little tighter. “Yes, a friend. This one I care about. Come tomorrow and you’ll see a hook-up, if you want to be right so bad. I didn’t hide it then, I don’t hide it now. You missed the man I had for breakfast by a couple hours.” He watched his father’s eyes change, and took in the hurt, like he had his whole life. What was a little more? “I’m not coming back. You know that. You’re not stupid. There’s no way you came all the way here just for me.” 

“You’re coming back,” Halward insisted. “One way or another.”

Dorian scoffed, all arrogance. He had long grown past the threats of a father. It had taken everything from him to tear down brick by brick what his parents meant to him, to stubbornly refuse to bend to their will, to make threats of his own. He was not the boy they thought they talked to still. It was their greatest mistake, thinking there was someone still in him that they knew and could appeal to. A different Dorian, held hostage by the man he had grown up to be. There was none. _You know better,_ Dorian wanted to tell his father. His family had forcefully and violently emptied his insides years ago. He would not take the blame for being heartless now. They were only looking at the man they had created. “Try and make me,” Dorian answered. “You’ll need more than your sorry eyes and ridiculous orders.” 

Dorian didn’t wait for an answer and slammed the door shut, locking it as he went, just for good measure. He didn’t believe his father would enter forcefully. It was distasteful, and his family was anything but. They had other means to enforce their threats, but unfortunately for his parents, they had always kept their only child close to them, and Dorian knew them too well. He was two steps ahead, not because he was much smarter, but because his parents still thought they held some power over him.

“What can I do?” Cullen asked, following Dorian to his laptop. 

“Keep my glass full,” Dorian answered, grabbing his phone. He knew he should’ve made those phone calls earlier, but he hadn’t quite been able to commit to the blackmailing yet, somehow comfortable in the quiet before the storm, in knowing his family would find out what he’d been doing but they didn’t know _just yet._ That void, a space in the middle, had been the only true home he’d lived in for years. Clinging to his presumption of innocence, to parents who didn’t care about him enough to love him but cared about him enough to grasp at his running shadow and call it a son. “I have to get them to empty my trust fund,” he said, ignoring the bell ringing again. 

He was tempted to ask Cullen to keep his father busy, which would give more time, but he didn’t want Cullen to be exposed to his family. That was his mess to deal with. Cullen would know too much if he did, would break his promise to be distant, would be mean to them in a way that Dorian couldn’t accept. There would be no nuances to his anger, and Dorian relied on those. Things were never as simple as people made them out to be, one way or another. If they were, Dorian wouldn’t be here. Dorian had no interest in defending his own parents as they disowned him and kicked him out, and so he pointed at his glass again, insisting on the only thing he needed help with. There were calls he had to make, and his father had to be there for them.

“How does a trust fund work, exactly?” Cullen asked, half jogging to the kitchen to get more alcohol. 

Dorian looked for the number of his father’s banker in his phone and pressed _call_. “Like a paycheck.” 

Cullen stared at Dorian. “A paycheck?” 

“A paycheck,” Dorian repeated. “Someone sets it up, sets you up at the trustee, they decide how much you get from it and how regularly you get it. And then you get it.”

“How much is on there?” 

Dorian pointed at his phone. “We’re about to find out.” 

“Can you just empty it like that?” Cullen asked, glancing at the door. Dorian’s father was banging at the door now. “Will the banker let you do it?” 

“I fucked him,” Dorian answered, hitting numbers on his phone as he listened to the automated voice calmly tell him to pick the reason he was calling. He doubted there was an option for _karma, bitch_ , and so he picked the closest he could find. “In his wife’s bed. And I have proof. He is the other half of my father’s fortune.” Cullen kept on staring, as he often did, and Dorian shrugged. “I had to play my cards right.”

“I’m not judging,” Cullen said.

Dorian’s lips curled slightly into a smile. “Yes, you are,” he answered. He had no interest in justifying his little plan to anyone, least of all Cullen. He instead walked to the door and unlocked it with one hand, putting the phone to his ear with the other one. He opened it again and stared at his father. “Did you bring a tent, if you’re going to camp out here? It might not be as comfortable as what you’re used to, but it beats the carpet.”

Halward grabbed Dorian’s collar. “You don’t want me in? Fine. Then come out.”

“I already did,” Dorian said, pettily, because he could. “Isn’t that what this is all about?”

Halward pulled his son forward. 

Dorian was forced out of the flat, and he raised his hand as Cullen walked to him and signalled him to stay back. He closed the door behind him, refusing Cullen’s help. He knew his father wouldn’t physically hurt him. That’s not the way they hurt each other. Later, he would tell Cullen what had happened, paraphrasing his dear dad. He saw the scene unravel before it happened. He would be accused of always making a scene, he would be sarcastic in his answer, and his father would be progressively more hurtful until they were both staring at each other, breathless, each of their hearts broken, unable to agree on who was to blame. Was it Halward, who desperately clung to the family he wanted to have and how to keep it together no matter what, or was it Dorian being childish, refusing traditions and values that didn’t fit exactly who he wanted to be? His father would tell him that he was being selfish, that life was made of compromises, and Dorian would be arrogant because he didn’t know how else to be. He knew there was a part of him that coddled his father still, that refused to beat into his head that happiness _was_ possible, it just wouldn’t exist with them, not like this. Generations before him had compromised. Not him. Dorian would not meet in the middle for all the wealth in the world, and it didn’t matter if his mother was right about where he lived now, about how he would gamble his future to a country that would never understand him, all for a chance at being who he wanted to be. He had asked his reflection those questions before. Could he ever even achieve what he craved for so desperately here, or was he just sacrificing something else, a lose/lose no matter what he traded? Would his life always be tainted by one unfairness or the other? Still, he had chosen to make that bet. There were no words that would make either of his parents understand why _himself_ , that flimsy little thing, mattered, why he was more than the sum of his parts, and why that was worth fighting for. If such words existed, he would’ve convinced them of the same thing. Their own unhappiness brought him no pleasure, but had been detrimental to promising himself a different life.

On the other side of the door, Cullen paced, again, always agitated. He had kept his own glass full, since Dorian had disappeared, and prayed that Dorian would know what to do and say to keep himself safe. He had watched Dorian live for months, careless and careful all at once, tiptoeing between distracting himself to oblivion and being too aware of the complexity of his existence, always one foot into an existential crisis and the other into a profound state of internal peace. For all he talked of his own situation freely and with a lot of passion, he refused to explain things people wouldn’t understand ( _if you don’t get it now, there’s nothing I can do for you)_ , and Cullen believed they had become such good friends because they respected that in each other. Cullen didn’t care to pretend Dorian would ever understand the weight of crushing poverty, the pressure he had on himself to make sure every single one of his investments were of value, that he couldn’t afford the waste, couldn’t afford the time, couldn’t afford the energy, that he _did_ want to give back to his siblings, pay his family’s debts, that even if they never asked, he would always feel responsible for them. Dorian took him as he was, and Cullen did the same. There was little they understood about each other’s circumstances except that they had been there alone, until now. Cullen heard screaming in the hallway and turned on the TV. He didn’t watch it, but hoped to give Dorian the privacy to yell whatever he needed to yell, to deal with this however he saw fit. If he wished to talk about it later, god knew nothing would stop him, not Cullen, not God, not even a brick wall. 

Cullen wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the door opened again. Dorian slipped in the flat and closed it with his foot, the back of his head against it, eyes slightly closed. Cullen got up from the couch to hand him a drink and Dorian nodded at him as a silent thank you. “Are you okay?” 

“I won,” Dorian said. “I got the trust fund, gave my word I would keep to myself and never embarrass them again, I won’t come back, I won’t ask for anything else, and they’re allegedly leaving me alone.” He took a breath and looked at his phone. The shame he’d brought to his family was one thing, but to bring it to friends of his father and use it as blackmail had convinced his father that Dorian was beyond what could be redeemed, and it had accelerated the process. “I got what I wanted.”

Cullen noticed the tiredness in his eyes, the slight trembling of his bottom lip as he tried to keep his shoulders straight and up. _You don’t look like you’ve won_ , he wanted to say, and didn’t. He imagined Dorian knew this better than anyone. And so he offered what he could, as he always did. An open question and an open heart. “What can I do?” 

Dorian opened his eyes to look at him. The way Cullen’s stress was clear in his face, along with a stubborn resolve, it was as if he had been the one going through a life changing fight with the only family he knew. But no, no, Cullen had a sister to write to, a brother he still felt distant kinship with, a home he could return to. Even if it felt foreign, if it felt strange, out of place, confusing, it was there. Impossible bedrock against Dorian’s treacherous sandcastles. And yet. And yet Cullen was here, offering his help, ready to carry more weight on tired shoulders, anxious at the thought someone would refuse to add to his burden, that a friend wouldn’t trust him to be stronger than he was. “Sometimes, Cullen, there is nothing even you can do,” Dorian said after a pause.

“Is he gone? Are you safe? Will you-” Cullen saw Dorian’s lopsided smile grow and he paused. “You don’t want me to ask those questions.” 

“I can take care of myself,” Dorian said. Cullen nodded, and in that nod, he saw the acknowledgement that Cullen knew what that statement meant. Cullen respected independence, he respected the loneliness that came with making the choice to refuse help and deal with it. He had done that before himself, and Dorian’s heart warmed at the thought of mutual understanding. “ _You_ can bring all that alcohol to the coffee table and boot up _Air Crash Investigations_ and let me get drunk and comment on it. And no gloating that I offered to watch it. Last thing I need is you trying to tell me I care about _planes_ now.” 

Cullen contained a laugh and moved at once, gathering all the bottles he could hold against his chest to the table that neared the couch. He knew this was Dorian's way of both avoiding the current problem and somehow still taking care of him, making sure he had the good time he was promised. Cullen would let it happen, because the evening had started as celebration and Dorian would not see it end in tragedy. He watched Dorian plop on the couch, kicking off his fluffy slippers to put his feet on the couch’s arm rest, his back twisted in a position so unnatural Cullen’s body _hurt_ just from seeing it. He came to join him and set up the TV. They went through two episodes without much of a word, transfixed by the tragedy unfolding on the screen, so foreign to theirs but so comforting in a way they wouldn’t speak of. 

Dorian spoke after a while, cutting the silence Cullen respected and enjoyed. “I’m going to pay for your pilot school.”

“Yeah… yeah,” Cullen answered, focused on the double engine failure on the screen. A scene passed and his brain connected to his ears. He grabbed the remote and clicked pause, turning to Dorian. “What did you say?”

Dorian looked at Cullen’s wide eyes and shook his head. Of course he hadn’t been listening. “You asked, earlier, what was in the trust fund. I found out. I can pay for your school.” Cullen blinked at him and Dorian shrugged. “My parents set aside for many years of med school. I got it all. I can pay for your school.”

“Dorian,” Cullen answered, mouth half open, struggling to understand through his increasingly drunker brain what Dorian was _truly_ saying. This wasn’t his money. It was too much money. He hadn’t worked for it, hadn’t deserved it, hadn’t suffered for it. “You don’t have to do this.” 

“I know,” Dorian said. “Someone should do something with my tuition money. It won’t be me.”

“You could study something else,” Cullen said.

Dorian looked at him, chuckling. “Oh, my dear Cullen. I appreciate your faith in me,” he said after a pause. “I do. But you know damn well I’m not going to entertain any college around town, nor will I pay their outrageous costs for a better education I could’ve gotten at home for less. I’ll find something else. Maybe I’ll be a steward after all. You’ve done some dark magic, and got me curious about these silly little metal tubes. Plus, as you can see from the events of tonight, I am quite good at getting money out of flying away from home.” 

“This is so much money,” Cullen said. “So much money. I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back, and I don’t know if I ever can, and I can’t accept this, and this is just drunk you talking, and-”

“You should move in,” Dorian answered, cutting him off. “You’ll need a place to stay while you study, and you’ll have to quit at least two of your current jobs. I own this place. You can just move in the guest room.”

“Dorian,” Cullen started again. 

“Cullen,” Dorian answered. “This is stupid. You can’t say no and it will wound me deeply if you pretend to. Surely captains make enough money to pay these kind of loans back. You can do that whenever you can. In the meantime, you can just do what you’ve been doing for a month, which is sleep here. Your roommates don’t like you, the house is terrible, you hate being there, and you’re always here. It’s simple. Just stay here.”

Cullen looked at Dorian, searching on his face for any sign that this was a terrible joke and Dorian was about to say something cruel like _haha, you should’ve seen the look on your face_ , but Cullen didn’t know his friend to be mean. He knew cruelty too well to use it for fun, and there was nothing but calm seriousness in his grey eyes. 

“It’ll be fun!” Dorian said, crossing his legs. “As long as you don’t mind my hectic schedule and random men walking in and out, I think we will get along well.”

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?” 

“Oh, I am,” Dorian answered, gesturing at the wreckage of bottles around them. Cullen was hard to keep up with, which annoyed Dorian, who usually was the one that would drink anyone under the table. He believed if he matched Cullen glass for glass, his father wouldn’t have time to take him out of his will before his premature death took care of it. “But I mean it. If I have all this money, I’m never going to do anything with my life except do what I’ve done for months until it runs out. And then I’ll be decrepit and sad with no career, half a brain left, no liver and a gaping asshole. You think I want that for myself?”

Cullen tried to ignore the mental image Dorian’s ever colorful sentences brought him, and shook his head again, in disbelief still. “You could give it away to charity,” Cullen said. Dorian raised an eyebrow and Cullen crossed his arms against his chest. “I’m not _charity_!” 

“If it makes you feel any better, I can go to a bank, give them the money, and tell them to send it to you and call it a loan,” Dorian said. “I slept with one banker, I’m sure I can find another one who will be happy to participate in one of my devious little plans.” 

“This…” Cullen got up, walking around the couch. If Dorian was serious, it meant he could be a hired pilot in two, three years. It would change his life, it would make everything worth it. It would mean he hadn’t fought for nothing. “This means everything to me,” he said, flipping around to look at Dorian who was pensively watching him.

“You are walking in circles again. I imagine this is a good sign as an-” Dorian started, but Cullen cut him off.

“You... I’ll… I’ll pay you back, all of it, as soon as I can, and I’ll give you rent, and-”

“Don’t be ridiculous. _I_ don’t even pay rent,” Dorian answered. “My parents bought the place cash.” 

“Keep saying things like that,” Cullen said, stopping dead in his tracks. “That makes me feel better about taking the money.”

Dorian thought it over. “One time our neighbors offended my mother by criticizing her recent choices of wallpapers so she bought their house from under them and had them kicked out.” Cullen stared at him. Dorian continued. “I had a contest going with a friend back in the days where we would request the most preposterous things from our parents and see if we could one-up each other.”

“Who won?”

“Who won? Cullen, _me_ , of course,” Dorian answered, offended. “I got a yacht for my 18th birthday.” He paused. “Come to think of it, I wonder where it is now.” 

“Okay,” Cullen said. “I’ll take the tuition in bags of coins.” Dorian laughed and Cullen followed suit. “I could kiss you right now.”

“It would be an unusual start to a getting a roommate, but I’ll take it,” Dorian said. “I am not in the business of refusing kisses from men as pretty as you. I can’t say I haven’t thought about it.” 

Cullen chuckled but he blushed lightly still, not used to the endless stream of similar comments from Dorian since they’d met. He knew Dorian spoke to everyone like that, men and women alike, but it still made him feel silly. “I have to respectfully take it back. For both our sake,” Cullen said after a minute, ruffling his hair. “It might jeopardize the peace of the apartment.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Dorian answered with a wink. “Come sit back down, I want to know what happened next.” 

“If I get to pilot school as soon as next month, you do realize that means you have to become a steward, per our last bet?” 

“You know what, Cullen?” Dorian said, looking at the plane falling out of the sky on the large screen in front of them. “Maybe I will. Maybe I will.” 


	4. space cadet

> qui aime normalement sous le soleil, adore frénétiquement sous la lune.
> 
> \- Guy de Maupassant
> 
> _(he who calmly loves under the sun, adores frantically under the moon)_

**15 YEARS AGO**

Dorian heard the front door unlock behind him and turned his head around just in time to see Cullen push it open with his foot, carrying two big bags of groceries. His eyes barely poked out from behind them, but Dorian didn’t need to see his entire face to know he was smiling, a warm, silent greeting like he had gotten used to over the past two years. He would have been utterly devastated to see anything but. How quickly he had taken for granted the joy of hearing someone enter his home was both frightening and soothing. He was, against all odds, proud of his own heart for not freezing out over the years. He had done his best to protect it, but circumstances had made him disillusioned and harsh with himself and the people he cared about. It was a relief to realize what he had fought for had not destroyed everything in its path. Despite the fact he would deny it if asked, he had Cullen to thank for a lot of it. Perhaps it was because Cullen didn’t need to ask and took no pride in being the best friend he could be that Dorian felt so safe around him. For the first time in a long time, Dorian hadn’t stupidly found himself in a relationship that felt like bartering. Be it family, friends or lovers, he had always felt like there was a price to pay for caring. Not with Cullen. 

Their routine was comfortable. Cullen was in class all week and worked on the week-ends. He studied when Dorian was at work, enjoying the peace of an empty flat, and they spent time together on Dorian's days off. Dorian was enjoying his job as a flight attendant a lot more than he thought he would’ve. He had never shied away from work, this was a trust-fund-kid trait that he had never shared with his old friends, but he didn’t think anyone who had known him a few years back would’ve imagined him in uniform in a plane, travelling around, talking shit and serving coffee for a living. There was a lot more to the job than just that, but Dorian was happy to entertain people’s idea that he was paid a decent amount of money to do very little. The truth was that he often congratulated himself on having had enough sense to know that an endless stream of money would’ve led him to a very premature and grim death. Cullen had used the money well, and despite missing the intellectual stimulation of studying, he, for once, had no complaints about the life he was leading. Well, no _real_ complaints, anyway. Changing his life around had not stopped his endless nitpicking of just about anything in his line of sight. Soon, Cullen would graduate, join him in the airline, and things would be exactly as they should. Hopefully. They didn’t know if things would go just the way they needed to or if they should’ve been bracing for more hardship, but Dorian had always been a curious, fearless man, and he was excited to find out what would happen next. He had thought that Cullen would balance out his enthusiasm, but had been pleased to discover that behind his shy, cautious exterior was a man with laser focus, incredible stubbornness, and if not optimism, the absolute certainty that he would get where he wanted with hard work he knew he could do. They were a good match. Dorian had never been one to socialize with angels, but perhaps this was made in heaven and the proof he could have his share of it, too. 

“They were out of soy milk,” Cullen said, kicking the door close with his heel. He tried to remove his shoes with the tip of his toes, standing at the door in a careful equilibrium with the grocery bags. “I’ll swing by that fancy organic hippie store tomorrow on my way home.”

“You hate it there,” Dorian answered. 

“And I hate you complaining about dairy milk in your tea every morning more, so here we are,” Cullen said. 

“You love me. Did you get my shampoo?” Dorian asked. “I hope you didn’t forget my shampoo. I sent you a reference picture.” 

Cullen put down the groceries on the living room table along with his backpack, stretching as he did so. “Yes, I got your shampoo,” he answered, rolling his eyes. “Wasn’t it your turn to go grocery shopping this week?” 

“I’m way too pretty to carry those heavy bags from the store to this kitchen,” Dorian answered. “You know this. And it’s cold outside.” 

“Get them delivered,” Cullen answered.

Dorian clicked his tongue. “Now, now, you made a _great_ point about not paying the ridiculous cost of delivery when the store is just two blocks away. When do I ever agree with you about money? Shouldn’t this be celebrated?”

“You are evil,” Cullen said, but he was smiling. He nodded at the paper bags expectantly. “At least come help me put these away.” 

“I _just_ got home from a flight to the very North of Antiva. Do you know how far away that is? I am tired and jetlagged.” 

Cullen sighed at him. “You got home yesterday morning.”

“I said I was jetlagged!” Dorian answered.

Cullen ignored him, circling back to the way Dorian constantly complimented himself, the only surefire way to get his attention. “You are oh-so-very-tired, but surely you’re not _too_ pretty to help me with this? What use are those muscly biceps if you’re not flexing them a little bit?” 

“I'd be happy to show you what they can do but you won't let me,” Dorian answered. He despised that it got him up the couch but it did and he walked to Cullen, mouth half open as if in shock. “You think flattery will get me to do things for you?” 

“If it doesn’t, nothing else will,” Cullen muttered.

“Very well. Have it your way,” Dorian said, grabbing a singular can of tomato sauce and walking it to the kitchen. He made a show of flexing his biceps, to which Cullen didn’t react (he never did). Cullen raised his eyebrows, inviting him to go on, and Dorian came back to the table to pick up a bag of rice and walk back to the kitchen to store it. He knew the lack of efficiency in the technique would drive Cullen insane, and after having a duel of will over Dorian opening a carton of eggs to take a singular one and hold it in his palm, Cullen grabbed both bags and took them to the kitchen, muttering something about _sharing a flat with a lazy housewife_ and _2 years! 2 years of this!_ “Look, you know this is my least favorite chore. I don’t like putting things away. I like when my food comes in a packaging that keeps it warm and it’s already made and I can throw it away so the kitchen doesn’t get dirty.”

“Every chore is your least favorite chore.” Cullen pointed an accusatory finger at him. “And when we order takeout you complain that it’s not as good as the food back home.”

“Well, they don’t deliver from that far away. Am I to blame for this as well?” Dorian answered, leaning against the door of the kitchen, watching Cullen put things away. Cullen turned to look at him in silence, as he often did, and Dorian smiled. There was a fondness in his friend’s eyes that encouraged his terrible behavior, a discreet way in which Cullen said _never change_ like it was a secret and a promise. It warmed Dorian’s heart for no good reason. “You’d miss my complaints if I were to leave. I am irresistible. It’s why you let me get away with everything. Admit it.” 

“Speaking of,” Cullen said, refusing to admit anything. It had taken him a couple of months to realize that there was no good answer to Dorian coaxing a confession out of him (or much of anyone), and he now excelled at segwaying into safe territory. Dorian was too charming for anyone’s good including his own, and a simple admission of defeat easily snowballed into a game of truth or dare that would have him print his social security number and fly it behind a plane on an Antivan beach. He pulled Dorian’s shampoo from one of the bags and threw it at him. “It’s been two years today since we started living together.” 

“Have you been counting in a romantic way or in a ‘drawing little sticks on the wall to remember what day it is in jail’ way?” Dorian asked, catching the bottle of shampoo in mid-air.

Cullen rolled his eyes. He knew Dorian was saying this just for show, and that they both knew exactly what day it was. They were romantics in different ways, but romantics nonetheless. Dates and events mattered to Cullen, they grounded him in a way few things did. He was too wary of missing the passing of time and its consequences. Little celebrations reminded him to realize time had passed, how much, what he’d done since, how he was now. That he was still there at all. Dorian was the opposite: the rhythm of celebrations were the only way he really kept track of much of anything, and he was always happy to see days run away from him and blur into the other until a special date came around and reminded him that years came all the way around and he was a part of them still, everyone else be damned. 

“And what of it? Are we celebrating?” Dorian said, opening the freshly replenished fridge to take a drink from it. “Do you have 10 half naked men ready to pop out of a cake for me?” 

“No,” Cullen answered. “Just me.”

“You are going to pop out of cake half naked? _For me_?” 

“ _No!_ ” Cullen said, exasperated, pushing past a laughing Dorian as he walked out of the kitchen. “I was just thinking about it earlier and I was happy about it, is all.” He could feel Dorian’s eyes on him and he felt silly all of a sudden, like he was showing too much of his heart at once. “I know you said to stop thanking you about it, but, you know. I don’t think I’d finally be where I want to be if it weren’t for you. I know that, actually.” Dorian offered him a genuine, warm smile, one he saved for real occasions and Cullen cleared his throat. “I usually count the days because I’m so worried about how long it’s taking me to get what I want. It’s nice to count for how long I’ve had a good thing instead.” 

“Well, I can’t say you’ve been entirely unpleasant to have around,” Dorian said, following Cullen to the living room. They plopped down on the couch together, Cullen’s legs already on the footrest in front of him. Dorian knew Cullen would give himself some time doing _nothing,_ something he had been struggling to do but working hard at. Flight school and his job kept him busy and Dorian had forced him to learn how to sit down and rest, how to appreciate being idle. It was a work in progress. Dorian watched him close his eyes slightly as he stretched, always too tense for his own good, and realized he had a hard time coming up with an alternative life where his friend wasn’t there. He didn’t know and was not interested in finding out what would have happened if they’d never met and got along, and he was, for once, satisfied with what he had built around himself. 

Dorian grabbed the book he’d abandoned on the couch and settled in, opening it where he’d left off. Cullen would soon turn on the TV and put it on mute, looking at the screen with absent eyes, lost in thoughts Dorian sometimes wondered about. Cullen was not a complicated man but he was not one to let people crack his skull open and peek inside, more shy about his internal musings than protective of them, and Dorian knew him enough now to tell when it was okay to pry and when they’d just sit next to each other without a word, alone together. Dorian tried his best to distract himself, but they made too much sense for him not to wonder. He wouldn’t lie and pretend he hadn’t thought of the blonde head of curls waking up in his warm bed, of the guest room going unused again because they no longer required two beds. Thoughts of this imaginary life had sneaked into his brain and he couldn't get them out, no matter how many men came in and out of his bedroom as a distraction. Their one night love stories always ended the same, and he kicked them out immediately after being done with them, as if upset to have realized too late that they weren't Cullen.

It was foolish, and he wouldn’t speak a word of it. Cullen accepted just about any of his flirting with a healthy balance of grace and annoyance, and Dorian refused to ruin the good thing they had. It had taken him a lot of silent work not to instinctively wreck the home he had stumbled into. That was, after all, what he had always excelled at. And yet. Somehow, somewhere along the way, Cullen’s warmth and Dorian’s stubbornness had turned the empty flat into a place of living. Books filled shelves, pictures went up walls, cutlery was used and washed and used again, sweaters were permanently stored on living room chairs, shoes were never quite where they belonged. Seats were left warm and coffee was almost always brewing. Dorian did not recognize the place his parents had given him, and he damned himself for not being attentive enough as a house changed to a home. He wasn’t sure he could do it again somewhere else, not without Cullen. Home was something he thought of as a rare, precious thing, a secret recipe, split in half, that required two people to come together. He’d done his part blind, but Cullen was a natural. 

Dorian hoped, selfishly because hope always was, that Cullen and the house would remain his.

***

“Cullen will be happy to know you made it,” Dorian said, leading Cassandra to their big, rowdy table. 

Cassandra had worked at the airline for a couple of years, a first officer he had never flown with. He remembered properly meeting her for the first time months ago, the severe looking woman ringing at their door to drop off some school related books for Cullen. He had laughed then, _wait, Cullen has friends?_ My _Cullen made some_ friends?, a joke neither Cullen or Cassandra had found funny. It had been light hearted teasing he couldn’t keep himself from doing, but as he looked at the group standing around, all freshly graduated pilots, Cullen a proud part of it, his chest felt warm. Cullen wasn’t shy or entirely unfriendly, but he liked the safety and comfort of his schedule and his work and his home, and getting him out of the house to meet other people was always a hurdle, the man happy to drink with the one person he’d befriended and call it a night. Yet here he was. Even he couldn’t resist celebrating the one thing he’d been fighting for for years. 

Cullen noticed Cassandra and breathed a sigh of relief at the thought of finally having a good reason to dodge Hawke’s big arm around his shoulders, the man shaking him in excitement that they’d made it. He had known Hawke from working in Kirkwall a couple years back, and he’d been surprised to see him again on his first day of training. He hadn’t known Hawke to be particularly passionate about planes, and when he had asked what he was doing away from his dear Kirkwall, Hawke had answered, in the traditional Hawke way of being asked a question and refuse to answer it right, _well, they don’t have a flight school there, dummy. Now you’re stuck with me again!_ And stuck he was. Hawke had been pushing him around in celebration of their joint graduation for fifteen minutes, and Cullen was not yet drunk enough to surrender to his loud affection. Hawke would find someone else to smother for no reason, and he was sure the next person would be more than happy to entertain him. “Cassandra!”

“Cullen, congratulations,” she said, embracing him lightly. “I heard you graduated top of the year?” 

He nodded, proud, his head high like he had never doubted himself. “Didn’t top your score from when you graduated four years ago, but I did beat the competition.” Cullen noticed Dorian’s little smile and his own grew. “Wouldn’t be there without Dorian.” 

Dorian was not known to wave thanks away, especially not in public, and he bowed slightly. “You’re very welcome. It appears my investment was worthwhile. Hopefully profit will follow.” Cassandra rolled his eyes, never quite fond of his attitude, and before Cullen could stutter something about paying him back, Dorian raised his glass. “But enough of this. We’re here to celebrate, not talk about finances.”

Hawke saw him clink glasses with Cullen and called a toast, stepping on top of a chair as if he needed to be even taller and bigger than everyone else. The drinking officially started once the entire bar had been forced to listen to Hawke’s loud listing of the group’s achievements. Strangers clapped at Cullen for being “ _the best son of a bitch pilot in this pub_ ” (Hawke’s words), and it took Dorian’s hand on Cullen’s arm to stop him from getting upset at Hawke doing all this when he knew damn well Cullen despised that kind of attention. He knew he was good. This was between him and whoever he needed to impress. 

The night went on, friends and future accomplished pilots coming and going. Cassandra left early and Hawke, at some point in the night, had disappeared. Soon enough it was just Dorian and Cullen stumbling out of the bar into the street, drunk and happy, not quite remembering what they were laughing so hard about. Cullen tripped and almost made Dorian fall on the pavement. They caught each other at the last minute and steadied their feet. “I’m glad you were here tonight,” Cullen said, his arm around Dorian as they moved forward. 

Dorian looked up at him. His face was so close, golden eyes happy and lips curled up into a silly smile still. Dorian was overwhelmed with the desire to simply reach up and kiss them. He didn’t even need a full kiss, he would’ve been happy with just the corner of that grin, satisfied with a brush against his cheek, maybe it would turn into a bigger hug, maybe they’d pretend to dance, a drunken melody in an empty street. Just for the two of them, just to keep Cullen laughing. Maybe they’d take that happiness back to their flat and tumble into bed, a thought more inebriating than whatever he’d drank tonight. There was something warm in his belly and a warmer body around him and they were walking in the same direction, back to a shared home they’d built blind, not knowing it’d bring them here. But Cullen was not looking down at Dorian’s face, he was not thinking about the way he could brush his fingers through his hair and Dorian would let him, was not contemplating the natural and terrifying idea of matching an adoring stare with loving eyes. 

Cullen was trying to decide if the way back was left or right, and he stood up straighter as he narrowed his eyes into the poorly lit street. “Should we just take a cab?” 

“What?” Dorian said, blinking like he’d been woken up from a dream.

“A cab,” Cullen repeated, taking his arm back from Dorian’s shoulders. “I have no idea where we are.” 

“Sure,” Dorian replied, shaking his head like it would make the thoughts go away. He could never quite resist the charm of a pretty boy. It had been stupid to pretend he would be able to, but Cullen mattered to him more than the other pretty boys that had come and gone and broke his heart on purpose or by accident, and _him_ he couldn’t throw a hissy fit about. He pulled out his phone and blinked at the screen. “I’ll do my best to type the address right. As much as I love a good adventure, maybe it’s safer for everyone if we finish this in our own living room.” 

“I trust you,” Cullen said. He sent Dorian his best smile, but Dorian was no longer looking. 

***

Cullen’s knee flew up and down in the corner of Dorian’s eyes, and Dorian put a hand on it. As his leg stopped, Cullen’s fingers took over, drumming on his armrest. Dorian sighed. He wanted to be sarcastic, and make a comment about pilots dealing with pressure and stress, but when Cullen looked up at him and he saw the anguish in his eyes, he changed his mind. “Don’t let them see you stress out like that,” Dorian said instead.

“But I am stressed out like that!” Cullen protested, his voice low. 

Dorian looked around at the long, silent hallway, filled with men and the occasional woman who had made it through rounds of interview to this final one, hoping they’d be hired by the next week. Doors in front of them opened and closed as hopeful aspiring pilots walked in and out of rooms, eager to start the job interview and even more eager to see it done. Dorian had been there himself, albeit on the flight attendant side, but he hadn’t been nearly as worried. He had always been confident, and while many had told him to be wary of his own immense self esteem, it had been exactly what the airline wanted. Flight attendants needed to stand steady on their feet, be assertive and trust themselves enough to make lightning fast decisions should the worst happen, and airlines had long accepted that it was a double edged sword that came with some form of cockiness. Pilots were trickier, and despite having no doubt he would be a great one, Dorian knew Cullen was overwhelming himself with the thought they wouldn’t see that. Dorian grabbed both of Cullen’s hands, forcing him to turn in his chair to look at him. He tried to infuse some of that in him. “Cullen. You’ve graduated top of your class. You did well in the first round of group interviews. This is the _easiest_ part.” 

“I worked so hard for this. And it’s all left to a _job interview_? Maybe they should just try and live the life I’ve led for 10 years, that’ll show them grace under pressure.”

“You’re throwing a tantrum,” Dorian answered. “That’s my job. Focus on the one you’re about to get.”

Cullen exhaled a controlled breath. “What if they don’t like me?”

“Why wouldn’t they like you?” Dorian asked. “Look at you. Pretty eyes, good smile, looks like you’d use hotel gyms that everyone ignores in favor of the breakfast buffet.” Cullen opened his mouth, probably to say something stupid like _this isn’t a joke_ , and Dorian squeezed his fingers. “I can promise you no one in this room is as passionate _and_ perfect for this job as you are.” Cullen looked at him with thankful eyes and Dorian smiled. “In fact, it gives you this shiny, desperate, sweaty kind of glow. I’m sure they’ll love it.” 

Cullen pushed him away as Dorian tried to hold onto his hands, laughing lightly. “I hate you.” 

Dorian moved his hand to Cullen’s arm, holding it gently. Cullen took in a breath and exhaled, doing his best to quiet down the beating of his heart. This was important to him, perhaps more important than just about anything, and Dorian wished he could’ve convinced Cullen that he was the only one doubting himself. He didn’t have many friends that knew him as well as he did, not around here, but the ones that did, people like Cassandra or Hawke, already had champagne ready for when he’d get the news. But Cullen was stubborn in everything, be it becoming a pilot or his fear he never would. 

“Keep talking,” Cullen suddenly said, turning to Dorian. “I’ll deny ever saying this if you repeat those words back to me but the sound of your talking shit was actually helping.” 

Dorian grinned. “No promises,” he answered, but he was ready to give him this one. Cullen was back to cracking his knuckles and playing with his cufflinks and Dorian removed a ring from his finger, the most discreet one he had, a silver band that he kept on his thumb. He grabbed Cullen’s hand and looked at it, wondering which finger it’d best fit on. “It would work better on the annular, but I know you have commitment issues.”

“Me?” Cullen answered. “ _You_ are telling _me_ this?” 

Dorian raised an eyebrow at him. He almost argued on principle, but there were things even he couldn’t deny. “Fine. Hand me your left hand, then.” Cullen didn’t, and Dorian shook his head. “Something for you to play with. They won’t pay attention to twisting a ring around, and it’ll help keep your cuffs intact and your legs still.” Dorian reached out to grab his fingers and slid the ring on his index, moving it gently between his own and his thumb. 

Cullen didn’t say anything but felt it move around his skin. He looked down and at it as Dorian sat back. He twisted it experimentally, and soon enough, his entire body was still, save from the ring moving around on his finger. His shoulders _almost_ relaxed from having something to occupy his nervous hands with. He smiled at Dorian after a minute. “How did you know?”

“I am an expert in Cullenisms,” Dorian answered, his smile mirroring Cullen’s. “Against my will, may I add.”

“Thank you, Dorian,” Cullen said. 

A door opened in the hallway and a man’s head poked out. “Cullen Rutherford?” 

Dorian squeezed his shoulder and pushed him up. Cullen gave him a quick thumb up before going. Hawke, who was sitting nearby, waved at him happily as he walked past. Cullen nodded at him, refusing to think about how _easy_ this probably was for someone like Hawke. Hawke would probably give the people a big smile with his stupid shiny teeth and get the job immediately. Cullen took in a breath and entered the room. He was faced with 3 people, who pointed at a chair in front of them. _This is it_ , he thought. Dorian’s ring felt warm and familiar under the tip of his fingers and when he sat down, his legs stayed quiet and his eyes focused. _This is it._

***

“I have an aesthetic related question,” Cullen said, staring at his reflection in one of the many mirrors of Dorian’s walk in closet. 

Dorian barely raised his eyes from his phone. He didn’t think Cullen would allow fashion to make him late, but at this rate, they weren’t going to be early enough for him to be comfortable and he would be insufferable the whole ride to the airport. “Yes, change those shoes.”

“What?” Cullen said, looking down at his brown shoes somewhat self consciously. 

“Oh. You weren't asking about the shoes?” Dorian asked. “Apologies.” 

“I was going to ask if I can leave my hair like that or if I should gel it up or something,” he mumbled, eyes on his shoes still. “What's wrong with my shoes?” 

“They're comically ugly,” Dorian answered, walking towards the cupboard that held his slightly bigger than he could justify collection of shoes, looking at it thoughtfully. “Your hair is fine. The little natural curls make you look approachable.”

“Don't bother,” Cullen said, running his fingers through his hair. He knew it was a compliment but was skeptical on the matter. He usually trusted Dorian’s opinion on these things, because he wouldn't have known the slightest thing about them, but he had grown to care about what he looked like and presented to the world. Years of being next to Dorian had made him understand the underrated importance of it for men, and he now found himself actively paying attention to things he never thought would ever matter. “I have bigger feet than you.” 

They were both looking at each other's feet now. Cullen shrugged. Dorian would not have stood the humiliation of insisting only to end up being wrong, and he glanced at the time. “I’ll help you pick a new pair on the layover.” 

“I’m not sure it’s necessary,” Cullen said, adjusting his uniform. He had always looked at himself and seen an airline pilot. It was strange to have the clothes fit the dream. 

Dorian pulled open a drawer full of watches and gestured at Cullen to come pick one. “It’s your first day on the job. Half your colleagues there will be women, the other half gay men. They will notice the shoes. Do you want to be appreciated or not?” Cullen picked a watch at random and Dorian rolled his eyes, taking it out of his hands and grabbing another one. He shoved it against his chest. “You are hopeless,” he said. “Thank god you're pretty.”

“My colleagues are pilots,” Cullen said. “I don’t think they’ll care that much.” 

“Then why worry about your hair?” Dorian asked. Cullen crossed his arm on his chest, and Dorian poked him there. 

“No one’s looking at my shoes!” Cullen protested. 

“I am. And they’re dreadful. I wonder why the company won’t supply those with the uniform. Those little guidelines are _not_ built with straight men in mind,” Dorian said. Cullen simply looked at him with pitiful eyes, like a puppy that had been kicked. Or rather, a puppy that had been promised a treat and was running out of patience for it. Dorian sighed. “You want me to do your hair?” 

“It looks messy like this!” Cullen said, raising his hands in the air, more upset than the situation warranted. He blamed it on stress and his frustrating inability to look as put together as Dorian always did. It was fine when he was on his own, but they worked together now, and they were on the same flight, and they would be walking side by side in the airport, and he was going to look like he rolled out of bed into his uniform next to Dorian. “I don’t want to look approachable, I want to look like I have my shit figured out. Look at you,” Cullen added, and continued before Dorian went on a tangent about how wonderful the uniform looked on _him_ , “You look… coherent. My curls are poking in every direction. It’s stupid. I tried doing it like you did for the job interview, but I couldn’t figure it out by myself.” 

Dorian let out a laugh, endeared by the fact Cullen paid attention to such things now. He gestured at Cullen to follow him and they walked to the bathroom together. Cullen sat on the edge of the bathtub and Dorian took advantage of the situation to give him a good look. He had come so far and Dorian felt almost undeserving of being here for it. It was always in moments like this, domestic and silly, that would have been unimportant had Cullen been able to do anything without putting his entire heart into it, that Dorian remembered how much he cared for him, and how strange a feeling it was. He had had good friends before, and missed Felix more every day, but none quite like this. “It’s really not that hard,” Dorian said after a while, holding the gel in his hands. “You can fly a plane, you should be able to do your hair.”

“You do it better,” Cullen answered. 

“I’m delighted to see you care,” Dorian said as he brushed his fingers through Cullen’s hair, enjoying the touch a little more than what was allowed. 

“You’ve rubbed off on me.” 

“I wish,” Dorian answered. “However, that _can_ be the next thing I show you if you like.” 

Cullen rolled his eyes. “Maybe some other day.” 

_In my dreams,_ Dorian thought, but he focused on taming his friend’s curls. What the man needed was a haircut, but Dorian had to draw a line somewhere and that line was perfectly visible there. It was a couple more steps away, and he refused to even poke at it with a toe. He knew himself enough to know he would not be able to cut Cullen’s hair without bringing back ridiculous yet incredibly sexual fantasies reminiscent of his teenage years. He was letting Cullen get away with too much already, he would not let the handsome man remind him of a younger self who shamefully jerked off under the blanket thinking of all the dizzily erotic ways to touch men without having sex with them. Cullen adjusted his sitting slightly and Dorian saw a flash of silver as he moved and paused. He reached out to graze Cullen’s neck and noticed the chain there. He pulled it from under his shirt and stared at it. 

Dorian hadn’t asked for the ring back after the job interview. Cullen hadn’t offered, either, and he was comfortable in this middle where they both pretended they’d forgotten about it so Dorian could keep the precious feeling of a successful gift and Cullen could keep the little piece of jewelry that seemed to matter to him more than planned. Dorian held the ring in his palm. A small silver chain ran through it. It looked new and Dorian knew enough about Cullen’s belongings to know Cullen had bought it especially for that purpose. Dorian raised his eyes and they locked with Cullen’s. “It suits you,” he only said after a while, picking his words carefully, scared he would embarrass his friend with a joke about being sentimental. 

Cullen’s cheeks reddened and he tore his eyes away from Dorian’s, looking instead at his hand and the ring in it. “I thought I might still be nervous for my first flight and need it.” 

“It is all yours,” Dorian answered, and he put it back under his shirt. He fought the need to raise his hand and graze Cullen’s cheekbone with his knuckles, a soft touch the only way he could express his love. Words were never enough for him, but words were forbidden and so was tenderness. He cleared his throat, feeling his hand burning with restraint. He allowed himself to slightly brush Cullen’s ear with delicate fingers - to finish taming a curl, of course, and stepped back to look at his work, ignoring the tingling of butterflies in his gut. “There you go.” 

Cullen glanced at himself in the mirror and smiled. Dorian followed his head and they looked at their reflection. “Thank you.” 

“My pleasure,” Dorian said, washing his hand. The air felt soft and the bathroom too small for the two of them, and so Dorian scrambled to change the subject. Distance was a blessing and a curse but it was the only way he knew how to avoid falling down a very deep well with Cullen’s name on it. “Have you been using my conditioner? Your hair is all soft and shiny. In fact, now that I think about it, you would be a wonderful live-in Barbie doll. Can we do lipstick next?” 

“I thought rubbing on each other was next,” Cullen said, getting up. 

“Is that what you did with your sister’s dolls as a child? Say no more. I’ll be your Ken,” Dorian answered. Cullen grimaced and Dorian crossed his arms on his chest. “This upsets you? You want the homosexual man to be Barbie? Let’s unpack that.” 

Cullen refused to take the bait and glanced at the heavy watch on his wrist. It was pretty, but he somehow cared more about Dorian’s careful fingers in his hair making sure they were just the way he wanted them to be than he did about what he knew to be an expensive toy. “We could unpack that, _or_ we could also go to work. I care about making a good first impression, so I’m going to pick the latter.” 

Dorian didn’t insist but only because if he did they absolutely would run late, and Cullen would crash his car about it. Dorian was already well liked in the airline and good enough with words and theatrics to get himself out of most situations, but Cullen’s biggest sell was that he was reliable and good at his job. He was friendly enough as a person, if a little overwhelmed at times by never truly being in his element, but they all knew he couldn’t count on his charm only. It would work on flight attendants, who were sure to harass Dorian about Cullen’s relationship status and the likes, but Cullen had been right to point out _pilots_ were his colleagues. Old captains who had little on their minds except the routine of flying and paying child support would not be wooed by Cullen’s golden eyes. That was reserved for all those who were long used and sometimes even enjoyed pining for men who weren’t careful who they smiled so prettily to, Dorian chief among them. 

Cullen would fit in great.

***

Flying felt comfortable to Cullen. The anxiety of the first few flights was gone, and he now felt at ease around the airport, knew the security agents by name, which detection dogs he was allowed to pet, the way through staff-only corridors to the airline’s crew room by heart. The sound of his suitcase rolling behind him felt almost _safe_ , and he had a favorite printer for his flight plans, and he was starting to know the captains he would fly with. He still struggled with the name of most flight attendants, as he spent less time with them than he wished, but it mattered very little to him because above all else Dorian had finally, through exchanging gossip with Josephine at HR, emailing flight operations enough time and making Cullen pull some strings with Cassandra, managed to get them on a similar schedule. They had gotten used to swapping flights around with colleagues, chasing down pilots and cabin crew alike with the same request over and over again. _Do you mind swapping that Lothering flight with mine? Dorian’s on it._ The excuse that they lived together and it was easier to commute (Dorian had been lying about knowing how to drive for some time now) had long been unnecessary, their colleagues understanding that they were some form of unit that was not to be separated. 

And so routine was mercifully allowed to set in. Cullen would prepare flight plans, brief with his copilot, take the briefing to the flight attendant, walk to the planes he loved so damn much still and find himself at peace in the cloud soon enough. He had travelled quite a fair bit by himself, but it was a lot more fun to do so while being paid for it, housed in fancy hotels and, more often than not, with Dorian. They had a schedule of their own now, had found bars to go back to no matter the destination, scoured the cities they flew to for the best restaurants and knew where to buy what. Their shared home was now filled with Orlaisian sweets, Antivan fashion, stupid souvenirs Dorian insisted on buying every time they found their way to a little town in Ferelden he would have never stepped foot in if it wasn’t for his job. He didn’t care for any of them, but it annoyed Cullen to see his living room filled with silly cups with the names of towns he’d grown up around and annoying Cullen was always worth it. Dorian had seen more of the airline’s destination than he had on account of having worked there for 2 years already, but he had told him many times that going there with him was like seeing them anew. Cullen cared about Dorian a great deal, and could no longer imagine what his life would be or even was without the man by his side.

“I know, I know. Growing out my hair was a wonderful idea.” 

Cullen blinked up, looking at Dorian over his beer. “What?” 

“You’ve been staring at me in silence for the last five minutes,” Dorian said. “You know I love to be looked at, but what will people say? We’re in public, at the hotel bar. The crews already talk enough, avert your loving eyes or suffer the consequences.” Cullen smiled at him and he shook his head slightly. “What is it?” 

“Nothing,” Cullen answered after a pause, his smile growing. It _was_ a good haircut. “You’re my best friend, you know that?” 

Dorian was taken by surprise by the kind words. He was not a fan of those surprises, not when he kept _himself_ from staring too long at his friend, not when he had to remind himself that they were roommates and colleagues and friends and couldn’t quite be something more. There had been a time where he would have answered _and I’m in love with you_ and they would have both laughed, but the lines had blurred in Dorian’s stupid, silly heart, and now he wasn’t entirely sure what was the right thing to say. “Of course I’m your best friend,” he said, scoffing only a little. “You don’t have any other friends.” 

Cullen’s smile grew. “You’re always mean to me when you catch yourself wanting to be nice.”

Dorian put a hand over his heart. He wasn’t sure if he did it to fake shock or cover up the noise of its beating. He was lost in translation, but it wasn’t the first time, and he had let other men go. Cullen was special in many ways, but Dorian would not allow him to be in this. He couldn’t. “I can’t be too nice. Everyone already is. It’ll get to your head. You’re already flying planes. One more compliment and you’ll think you’re God or something.” 

“So no more compliments?” Cullen said, pouting just a little.

“No,” Dorian answered.

“Not one?” 

“I’ve been too nice already,” Dorian said, taking a sip of his glass of wine. “You’ve gotten used to it. That’s terrible.” 

“You’re done? Not even about my new shoes? I went through so much effort to pick them and make sure you’d like them. You didn’t even notice. I wore them especially for you and you didn’t care.” 

“I do care! Your new shoes _are_ very nic-” Dorian started, warm at the knowledge Cullen had thought of him. He stopped himself when Cullen started laughing, he clicked his tongue. “Shut up.”

“You can’t help yourself,” Cullen answered, fist pumping in victory. “You can’t help being nice to me. I win again. I got you wrapped around my finger,” he added, moving forward a little bit, just to upset Dorian, who rolled his eyes. “Admit defeat.” 

“To you? Never,” Dorian said. _Hopefully_ , he added to himself. “ _Anyway_ ,” he went on, not letting Cullen continue teasing him about whether or not they were _best friends_ or _good friends_ , a distinction Cullen took very much at heart for some stupid reason that made Dorian’s gut flutter like a teenager discovering love. “Are we going out tonight?” 

Cullen shook his head no. “I’m beat. I think I’ll call it a night and just finish it in bed with the minibar and whatever’s on TV. Feel free to join.” 

Dorian downed the rest of his glass of wine and opened his phone, confident he could still find a hook-up for the night, a welcome distraction from Cullen’s offer to get drunk in his bed. Not that he hadn’t done it before, but something stupid had lodged itself in his brain and his heart and in his dick and until it went away, he didn’t want to hurt either of them with it. Dorian had fought hard to get here, and he would not see it destroyed. “Pass,” Dorian said. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Don’t stay up too late,” Cullen said, tapping Dorian’s shoulder with his free hand, grabbing his beer with the other. He didn’t wait for an answer and made his way to the hotel’s elevator, greeting the familiar night receptionist on his way. Travelling together regularly had multiplied their homes. They flowered no matter where they went, and it had made the entire world mellow and soft, bent to their will, time and space moving at their pace. Cullen smiled as he got in the elevator. He caught Dorian’s eyes from across the hall and waved at him as the door closed. Dorian flipped him off and his smile impossibly grew. _Best friends_.


	5. first love/late spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for my sake please pretend the title of this song is first love/late winter. the lyrics fit exceptionally well with the chapter but mitski had to make it spring for some reason, messing with my vibe. have a good reading!!!

> A great sorrow, and one that I am only beginning to understand: we don’t get to choose our own hearts. We can’t make ourselves want what’s good for us or what’s good for other people. We don’t get to choose the people we are.
> 
> (...)
> 
> What if one happens to be possessed with a heart that can’t be trusted?
> 
> \- Donna Tartt

** 14 YEARS AGO **

Dorian stood up from the side of the bathtub, forgetting why and when he had sat down in the first place. A minute or an hour could’ve passed. He grabbed the side of the sink to steady himself and look at his reflection. It winked at him and he smiled, enjoying the eerie feeling of realizing how drunk he was only by being alone in the bathroom struggling to stand up. The moment would pass, and he promised the handsome man looking back at him in the mirror that he’d stop drinking for the night, but he let himself enjoy it for now.

“Should we get a moustache?” He asked his reflection. “A new look to celebrate the promotion? What’s a cabin manager's moustache look like?” He pulled at an imaginary one, rolling it between his fingers, making himself laugh.

Dorian tilted his head slightly trying to find his better side ( _better_ , not good, because good sort of implied the other one was bad, and it mattered little if he turned his head left or right, he looked exceptional either way), and wondered about it. He usually kept his face clean shaven, but had grown tired of the look. His reflection answered with a little grin that he decided would indeed be complimented by a moustache and he tried to make himself promise to remember it in the morning. This was one of his drunk moments of unparalleled genius and he patted his pocket looking for his phone. It wasn’t here and he frowned slightly, wondering where he had put it down and if he’d ever pick it back up. “I have to tell someone,” he told the beautiful Dorian in the mirror, who somehow _had_ grown a moustache. Real Dorian frowned. “I really need to stop drinking,” he mumbled to himself, and thought of who he could trust with the idea.

He would’ve asked Zevran for his honest opinion on the matter, knowing the man cared about pretty boys, hair styles and Dorian’s never ending quest to look better than yesterday, but Zevran had come and gone, as he always did. He was always invited but rarely showed up, and when he did, it was usually to gather some free alcohol and disappear mid-sentence to God knew where, never to be heard from again until the next day of work. Dorian went down the list of trusted fashion advisers and considered Leliana and Josephine, but he wasn’t entirely sure they would care enough to remember to tell sober him that drunk him really wanted to grow out his facial hair. On any other day, he would’ve trusted Cassandra to remember pretty much anything if asked, but she was trying to keep up with Cullen to prove to him _someone_ could drink him under the table, which means that she probably had passed out and was most likely sound asleep on the living room couch. Cullen would always win this kind of competition, which he should’ve been more worried about than he currently was but-

Dorian paused his own internal monologue. “Cullen,” he said aloud, looking around. “Where’s Cullen?”

Dorian promptly forgot about his moustache related plans and opened the bathroom door. He blinked in the darkness of the long hallway and hit the wall a couple times with his palm to turn the light on. He hadn’t seen his roommate-best friend-favorite colleague-work husband in a while. Had it been anyone else, he wouldn’t have worried, but he had grown to know the man enough to realize that at 2am during a big party, contrarily to news, no Cullen too rarely meant good Cullen. Dorian usually was good enough at keeping him in his line of sight, something he was used to in his day to day life, but this late, Dorian had a mean tendency to sometimes drink away his mixed feelings on how badly he _needed_ Cullen in his line of sight.

He tried to remember when he’d last seen him despite losing track of time entirely. He would not be helped by the man he was looking for, who was efficient in all things, be it flying a plane or disappearing down a well never to be found again past a certain amount of empty glasses. Dorian walked to Cullen’s bedroom door and concentrated. The flat was big but not _that_ big, yet drunk Cullen had an uncanny ability to be where people least expected him. Dorian could only remember watching him storm off the living room after the third game of Wicked Grace that Cullen had lost. Cullen was a sore loser, his competitive edge all the worst when he was drunk, and a ridiculous but serious fight had ensued, which had most likely left him deeply vexed at his friends. They did always enjoy watching him get more angry than was reasonable at cards.

Dorian knocked on Cullen’s bedroom door and opened it. It was dark and he turned on the light. A big empty room stared back at him and he looked around, double checking that Cullen wasn’t sitting in a corner with a bottle of whisky, alone in the dark. It had happened more than once, for reasons that escaped Dorian but he respected on principle. Last time he had found him like this, he had made a mental note to his sober self to talk with Cullen about his alcohol habits, but similar to a drunk moustache dream, the very important thing to remember had been lost in translation and they never did end up having that conversation. Cullen was not in the room and he walked out, crossing the hallway to his. He opened the door and was faced with Leliana and Josephine. Or rather, with the back of Leliana as she dropped kisses on Josephine’s collarbone, her top halfway off. Josephine’s eyes widened as Dorian pushed the door fully open, one eyebrow raised. “Ladies.”

“Dorian!” Josephine exclaimed.

Leliana turned around. “Need something?”

Josephine gave Leliana a glance and turned back to Dorian with a smile. “We thought you wouldn’t mind-”

“You thought I wouldn’t notice,” Dorian corrected, but he was too drunk to care, and knew that Cullen would’ve been more bothered by other people having sex in his bed than he himself was. He decided to focus on the mission at hand. He would discuss what having info on one of the airline’s most respected captains hooking up with the head of HR could get him with Josephine later. Such things were unexpected but not unpleasant developments of letting Cassandra invite her friends to his party. More things for drunk Dorian to remember. “Has either of you two girls seen Cullen?”

“No,” Leliana answered, promptly turning her back on Dorian again, her hands moving on Josephine’s hips.

“I know the last thing you want to think about right now is a man,” Dorian said, “but unfortunately, I have lost mine, so I would love any pointers.”

“Where did you go that you lost Cullen?” Josephine asked. “You’re always together.”

“He tends to run away when he starts drinking,” Dorian answered, ignoring his drunk brain taking Josephine’s word too well, the earnest confusion at the possibility he could ever lose Cullen dangerous and sweet at once. “Not too far, usually, but there _is_ a snow storm.”

“Ask Cassandra,” Josephine said, and giggled when Leliana’s lips brushed her jaw.

“I’m disappointed, Josephine,” Dorian said, crossing his arms on his chest. “You usually know everything that’s going on.”

“Ask me where Cullen is on Monday and I’ll tell you,” she answered with a smile. “I’m currently off duty.”

Dorian rolled his eyes and closed the door. He would not get anything more out of the two women. He walked down the hallway back to the living room, glancing as he passed by in the room that was half an office, half a storage room, half a library, half a pantry, half a gym, half a guest bedroom with a sad couch, half a deserted space they didn’t know what to do with. Cullen wouldn’t be in here. He hated that the flat was too big for them and that he had still not found what to do with all the empty space. Dorian was used to living in houses that would’ve fit sixteen families and their in-laws and did not take waste at heart the way Cullen did. In fact, if he could’ve added empty rooms, he probably would’ve felt more at home. Maybe one of them would have a piano no one knew how to play in the dead center of it. Maybe that was a plan. It would piss off Cullen for sure, which was always a noble cause. “Stop giving me things to remember,” Dorian muttered to himself as he stepped in the living room.

Dorian looked around and saw Cassandra, surprisingly awake, holding Varric’s arm like he was being held hostage. He walked to them first, both to free the man and figure out if either of them would be more useful than the lesbians who would surely haunt his bedroom until the early morning. He stood behind the couch, arms crossed, and cleared his throat to interrupt a very drunk Cassandra harassing Varric about his next book. Cassandra raised her eyes at him.

“How come _Varric Tethras_ is here? At your party? Hawke always refused to introduce me.”

Dorian sighed. “I have already told you multiple times he is a family friend.”

“Oh,” Cassandra said, frowning like there was any way her brain would remember such a conversation now. “He won’t tell me what happens next.”

“Yeah, nothing to do with the fact you’ve been shaking me like a tree for the last twenty five minutes,” Varric said. “Sparkler, I came because I was in town, I wanted to congratulate you for your promotion, and because Hawke told me you knew how to party. No one warned me my number two fan would be here.”

“Number one!” Cassandra objected.

“My number one fan is myself, lady,” Varric corrected.

Cassandra ignored him, and frowned at Dorian. “Did you really tell me you knew him before?” She seemed lost for a minute, and sighed. “Drinking makes me stupid.”

Dorian snapped his fingers, remembering why he was standing there in the first place. “Cullen!”

Cassandra and Varric looked at each other, then at Dorian. “What about him?”

“Have you seen him?” Dorian asked. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Model looking blondie who drinks like his liver challenged him to a duel to the death?”

“Yes, yes, him,” Dorian answered. Varric had always been quite colorful in his description of the people he met. He wondered if Cullen knew that there was a little man in his apartment that would surely use him as a background drunk in his next book.

“Have you checked the kitchen?” Varric asked. “He was there last time I saw him.”

“Good point,” Dorian said, and left them without another word, forgetting as soon as he took his eyes away from them that he had intended to _also_ rescue Varric. He dodged a dart, thrown by god knew who from the other side of the room, shouted a _careful, you animals_ as he went, and entered the kitchen. Aveline was leaning against the counter, talking passionately with Carver about something plane related that Dorian could not care less about. Cullen was the only person who could attempt to make him interested in whatever technical similarities two metal birds had, and it more had to do with how pretty he looked when he was talking about something he loved and less to do with Dorian’s listening skills on the matter.

“Did I invite you guys?” Dorian asked. He had surely seen them earlier that evening, but he cared very little about the redhead he worked with, and Carver was little to most people aside from Hawke’s brother. Dorian sighed and took advantage of being in the kitchen to open the fridge and grab a beer. The cold feeling on his palm reminded himself that he had vowed not to get anymore drunk tonight, and he hesitated, looking at the bottle. He put it back down before opening it. Cullen was still MIA, and would remain such for the rest of the week if Dorian lost track of his precious mission.

“Cullen did,” Aveline answered, her lips set in a thin line. Dorian couldn’t tell if the annoyance was due to being interrupted or simply because they didn’t like each other. “Hawke invited Carver.”

“Of course he did,” Dorian said. No matter which way he requested it, there was no stopping Hawke from inviting his own party to other people’s parties. Every day Dorian thanked the little God Cullen prayed to that most of his friends lived in Kirkwall still. He wasn’t sure his apartment or Denerim could handle all of Hawke’s gang at once.

“We talked for 20 minutes not an hour ago,” Carver said, crossing his arms on his chest.

Dorian pointed at himself, index against his chest. “With me? What could we have possibly been talking about? I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“You wouldn’t stop telling me that by following Hawke’s footsteps and becoming a pilot I’ve made my complex worse.”

Dorian laughed. It resonated in the kitchen and he realized quickly that neither Aveline or Carver would follow suit. He wiped an imaginary tear at the corner of his eye and cleared his throat. “That does sound like me, doesn’t it?” Dorian said, chuckling still. “I was right, too.”

“Was there something you wanted?” Aveline asked.

“Right, right,” Dorian said, snapping his fingers. “Cullen. Has anyone seen Cullen?”

“He left the kitchen with some booze some time ago,” Carver said.

“Do you know where he went?”

“I’m not a fucking mindreader, so, no,” Carver answered.

Dorian raised his palms in the air. “Hostile, much?” He glanced at Aveline, who shrugged. “Fine. I’ll go ask Hawke. Maybe he’s better at mindreading. He’s certainly better at most things,” Dorian said, walking out as fast as he could before something was thrown at his face (again). Hawke was, really, the last person he wanted to see at this time of the night. He was not above humiliating himself once more by insisting that they should sleep together. He had tried everything, from harmless flirting to being more pushy to sitting down next to him and explaining in detail why and how they would have an amazing night if Hawke just gave him _one chance_. It wasn’t the first time Dorian had been rejected, but Hawke was one of the most attractive man he’d ever seen who wasn’t too straight for Dorian to care. There had been rumours that the pilot had found himself a steady boyfriend, but said boyfriend was nowhere to be seen and Dorian would not admit defeat until he saw the man with his own two eyes. Even then there was a strong chance he would keep politely insisting.

Hawke was sitting around the big glass roundtable in the living room, playing with cards absentmindedly as he talked with Merrill, sober as she always was, ready to listen to anyone’s rambling as she always was. A steady party-goer and a steadier colleague, Dorian was always amazed by her capacity to be both a constant wild card and a rock solid foundation for anyone to lean on. The first time he’d flown by her side, he’d been worried she would get eaten up by needy passengers, but she had just the perfect mix of kindness and standoffishness that kept passengers at bay. She looked innocent, but he had it on good authority that she terrified most people she talked to, which were excellent qualities for any flight attendant.

Dorian pulled a chair and sat in front of Hawke. “Garrett.”

Hawke turned his head to him. “Who?”

“You,” Dorian answered. Hawke was a beast of a man but somehow always the first one drunk and the last one sober. It was as if he took alcohol at heart, and refused to disappoint a singular pint of beer by not falling into a drunken stupor after drinking a couple of drops from it.

“Me?” Hawke repeated.

“Yes,” Dorian said. He, himself, was sobering up by the minute.

“Correct. My name _is_ Garrett,” Hawke said. Merrill patted him on the shoulder and he smiled at her like he’d just won something. “But most people call me Hawke.”

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe I actively pursue you,” he said.

Hawke shrugged. “You just want me for my body,” he said, pouting a little.

“Everyone does, Hawke,” Dorian answered.

“My boyfriend likes my brain,” Hawke said. He turned to Merrill. “Right?”

“He does,” Merrill told him, a reassuring voice. “Are you okay, Dorian? You look agitated.”

“I’ve lost Cullen,” Dorian said, ignoring Hawke’s stupid smile and any mention of his boyfriend. Dorian didn’t know what upset him more, than someone had managed to make Hawke settle down, that he hadn’t gotten to suck his dick _before_ he settled down, or that the someone he had settled down with wasn’t him. Dorian had no interest in dating Hawke, really, but he was still wounded that Hawke had never considered it. “Have you seen him, Merrill?”

“Oh, I know that one!” Hawke said happily. “He left!”

Dorian blinked at him. He opened his mouth to answer and decided to wave him away, focusing on Merrill instead, who, by sole virtue of being sober, would be the most reliable person in the room. It didn’t bode well for the room. “Any idea?”

Merrill pointed at the door with a shrug. “He’s right. He walked past us like 20 minutes ago. Hawke asked him where he was going and he said he was going home.”

Dorian’s mouth opened by itself and he shook his head. He closed it and opened it again, frowning. The two friends looked back at him with smiles. “He lives here,” Dorian ended up saying, realizing they would not expand on the anecdote.

“We know that, dumdum,” Hawke answered.

“You didn’t stop him?” Dorian asked, getting up hastily.

“I’m drunk,” Hawke said. “Merrill told me I can’t be trusted with decision making.”

“ _He’s_ drunk!” Dorian protested. “We’re all drunk!”

“I’m not drunk,” Merrill said. “But Isabela told me I can’t be trusted with decision making either.”

“Isabela isn’t even here,” Dorian said.

“She’s in our heart always,” Hawke answered solemnly.

Dorian swore and ran to the front door, grabbing his coat and scarf on the way. He struggled to put on his shoes, jumping on one foot, an undignified little dance that he was happy he’d forget about tomorrow morning. He patted his pocket for his keys and didn’t find them. He opened random drawers of the nearby cupboard in a hurry, hoping Cullen was miraculously just down the street standing in the snow drinking alone.

“Where are you going? Are you leaving? There’s a snowstorm!” Hawke said.

“Cullen is out there,” Dorian answered, annoyed. “You let him go! You should be the one going after him!”

“I’m not his babysitter,” Hawke said. Dorian didn’t seem moved by his argument and he sighed. “Dorian, come on. He’ll come back. He always comes back. I don’t think he can be killed. One time he drank too much and fell in the Kirkwall harbor,” Hawke added cheerily.

“Not helpful,” Dorian said dryly.

“What? He swam back up!” Hawke protested.

Dorian didn’t dignify Hawke’s comments with an answer and let out a cheer of victory when he finally found his keys. “I don’t have my phone,” he told Merrill, one hand on the front door’s handle. “I don’t know where it went. Considering the apocalyptic weather and my sexy yet fragile body, if you don’t see me coming back in half an hour, start worrying. I may have died in the snow and lost Cullen for good.” Merrill nodded excitedly and Dorian opened the door, stepping in the hallway. He turned around before closing it. “And do something about the worrying. Don’t just start worrying and leave it at that.”

“Oh,” Merrill said. “What should I do?”

“Tell someone who is allowed to make executive decisions.”

“Like Cullen?”

Dorian sighed. He thought of abandoning his roommate to his sorry fate but couldn’t quite commit to it after he realized that meant his other choice was protecting Varric or sitting next to Hawke. He needed his boy, in whatever shape he’d find him. He closed the door behind him and hurried down, the elevator consistently too slow for his liking. He stepped out of it and glanced at the building’s security guard. It had been the same man for years now, a big man named Colbert. Dorian had come to understand that Cullen had been right the first time he’d seen him. That man was not protecting anybody, let alone the building. Dorian had had some interesting conversations with him back in his days of going home with the sunrise still vaguely drunk, but didn’t know him to be useful for much of anything else.

He greeted him hastily and paused at the big glass doors, looking out at the street. The weather had not improved since the party had started, and had in fact gradually worsened. Strong gusts of wind made heavy snowflakes dance in the air, bright fresh snow illuminated by street lamps. Dorian had had to come to Ferelden to see snow, his first time interacting with it his first winter here. He had hated every minute of it. His opinion on the matter had not changed, despite Cullen claiming that he would find love for it once he got used to it being there every year. They were both stupid and stubborn, so Dorian had never changed his mind even if he had grown fond of a skyline covered in snow and Cullen had never changed his despite his newfound hatred of what it did to planes and how much it added to his workload in the winter.

“Are you looking for your boyfriend?”

Dorian turned to the security guard, realizing he had been frozen in front of the door for five minutes. He was too drunk still to be doing all this. “Yes,” he said, and then, “No!” Dorian shook his head. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“You don’t have to hide,” Colbert said hastily. “I have nothing against gay people. My brother is gay.”

“Great,” Dorian answered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So is the man living on the 7th floor.”

“Mr Couldry is gay?”

“No! Me!” Dorian said, throwing his hands in the air. He didn’t regret moving to Ferelden but the people in this land sometimes had him convinced that they were all scheming behind his back to exasperate him specifically. “I mean I’m not hiding. We’re just roommates.” Colbert gave him a look and Dorian gave up on trying to convince him of anything. He imagined the man got bored waiting down there all alone at night and probably occupied most of his time by making up scenarios about the people who lived here. That’s what Dorian would have done anyway, and he knew what people saw when they saw the two of them together. “Regardless, have you seen him?”

“Twenty minutes or so ago, yeah,” Colbert answered. “He seemed in a hurry and he was carrying a bottle of whisky with him. I tried to get him to wait for a taxi because of the snowstorm but he said he had his bike and I didn’t have to worry about him. He told me to tell you he was fine.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. He said you’d probably run after him like a fool who realized too late he was gone.”

“Bloody idiot,” Dorian muttered. He turned back to look at the snow and sighed. “Did he tell you where he was going?”

“I’m not allowed to ask those questions,” Colbert answered. “I would have but I tried to ask the old lady who lives on the twelfth floor if she was doing anything for Christmas and she complained to my boss that I was inquiring into private matters to get insider knowledge so I could rob her later. Since then I just guard the place in silence.”

Dorian snorted, giving the big man a glance. “Sounds like something Giselle would do. She’s given me grief before.”

“She’s just an old lady.” Colbert shrugged. “Do you want me to order you a taxi? Maybe you can ask the driver to just drive around the block.”

“I’ll walk,” Dorian said. “He can’t possibly have gone that far.”

“I’ve seen him ride his bike. He goes fast. Like _stupid_ fast. Have you seen his legs? Those are some impressive calves.”

“Yes,” Dorian said. The man gave him a look and Dorian rolled his eyes. "Roommates!" He insisted before opening the door and stepping out.

He heard the man give him a warm _good luck!_ and hoped that he would have any. He tried to look in the snow for traces of a bike and followed the nearest footsteps that turned at the corner. His shoes were completely covered in snow, and despite his best effort to walk in the path that had already been made by late night adventurers before him, the cuff of his pants were already wet. They clung to his skin, making him shiver in the night. He hugged himself and damned Merrill and Hawke for having distracted him enough he forgot his gloves. He tried to tighten his scarf further and gave up on the idea of warmth a minute later.

Dorian did his best to keep track of where he was going, intent on coming home even if Cullen was nowhere to be found. He didn’t trust the people in his apartment to throw a search party with this much alcohol in their blood, and wasn’t 100% sure there would be an apartment to come back to at all. The snow didn’t seem to stop or be kinder to him as he went, and he was soon completely drenched, his hair falling flat on his forehead. Any other time, he would’ve liked a dramatic run in the snow to find the man he cared most about, but he liked to imagine those scenarios in a warm bath with some wine and snacks. Living it was less dreamy, and every second that he squinted into the wind to try and see ahead of him he discovered a new swear word. He kicked some snow as he walked, muttering something about Cullen not being hot enough to be this stupid. Or gay enough, rather. Dorian would have forgiven a lot more if he had had a shot at what he truly wanted. He worried about Cullen for many reasons and was intent on having him sleep in his own bed and not pass out at a bus stop in the cold, but he knew the man enough to know he was probably just fine in the cold. A Fereldan from the countryside through and through. Dorian was ready to bet Cullen could have slept soundly no matter what, even if there was a hole in the ceiling of his bedroom, as long as he had something resembling a bed. “You need to want better for yourself, Cullen,” Dorian said between his teeth.

Dorian spotted a bus stop and sat underneath it for a second, trying to gather his thoughts and decide which way to go. He could go back and try another direction from the building or continue on the way he was going now. He tried to think of what Cullen would do, where he would go if he was drunk, _in a hurry_ , and telling him not to worry. Dorian tried to click his fingers but they were frozen and the tip of them hurt like hell, so he just blew on them and shoved his hands in his pocket. _The airport. This stupid idiot is going to the airport._ He got up and kept walking, turning left at the big grocery store whose neon lights shone against the whiteness of the snow. He was happy his instinct had put him in the right direction in the first place and paid more attention to where he was going now, trying not to slip and fall at the same time.

It miraculously did not take much longer for Dorian to spot a lonely silhouette on the other side of the street. He’d been walking for what felt like 10 days but was more likely fifteen minutes when he saw Cullen. He approached slowly, as if the man would run away like a scared animal at the sight of him. Cullen had his bicycle flipped in front of him, wheels up and seat down against the pavement, half of it buried in the thick layer of snow. Dorian paused on the sidewalk, shaking his head slowly. He watched Cullen take a swig of his bottle, put it back in his coat and focus on the bike again. It had derailed and Cullen was struggling to put the rail back on properly with his gloves on. Dorian sighed. “Idiot,” he said, and then, louder, “Cullen!”

Cullen’s head snapped up. “Dorian? What are you doing here?”

Dorian looked both ways before attempting to cross the street, holding on to a lamppost as he left the sidewalk and his shoes met the slippery asphalt. “I’m going shopping,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Is this sarcasm?” Cullen answered, getting up.

Dorian gave up on crossing the street _and_ sassing Cullen out when he lost his footing and almost fell on his ass. He was cold enough as it was, and didn’t need to add humiliation on top of it. No one would be making snow angels tonight. “Take a wild fucking guess, you fool! Come back here!”

“I’m fixing my bike,” Cullen said, pointing it at unhelpfully.

“You’re going to get frostbite!” Dorian shouted from across the street. “Worse! _I’m_ going to get frostbite!”

“You know first aid,” Cullen answered, crouching again. “Don’t they teach flight attendants first aid?”

“I stopped listening when it was no longer about mouth to mouth,” Dorian said, fighting with the wind who was intent on strangling him with his own scarf.

Cullen looked up at him, blinking away snowflakes caught in his eyelashes. “I don’t think mouth to mouth is gonna work against frostbite.”

“That’s the point, idiot,” Dorian answered, frustrated and worried at once. “Now give me a reason to kiss you or get your ass over here and let me help you get home!”

Cullen did not answer, focused once again on his bike. Dorian sighed and let go of the lamppost, carefully stepping on the road to attempt crossing the street again. He knew he wouldn’t convince Cullen to leave without his precious little bike that he’d owned for years. He had fixed it countless times, refusing to buy a new one despite finally having enough in his bank account to do so. Cullen was good at fixing things and bad at spending money, and despite all his bitching, Dorian would be sad if his friend ever changed that about him. He had warm memories of a drunken night and a swollen phone battery and the magical hands that had fixed them.

Dorian made it to the other side of the big street and stood over Cullen, shivering. “Why did you leave the flat like that, without warning me?”

“You were busy entertaining other people,” Cullen answered, an edge to his voice.

Dorian frowned at him. Was that jealousy he heard, a rare bitterness in Cullen’s words, or was Dorian hearing what he would’ve selfishly liked to hear from his friend? Was this trip in the snow a hissy fit? Dorian couldn’t quite commit to being sarcastic, not in the face of barely concealed honesty, and so he sighed. His breath was a little cold cloud between them, and he watched it as he spoke. “If you wanted me to go and pay attention to you, all you had to do was stick around. You were so upset about losing that game of Wicked Grace, I thought you didn’t want to see anyone.”

“I didn’t lose, Merrill cheated,” Cullen said, louder than was necessary, anger bubbling back up, his mood always unstable this late. It swung like his wrist when he drank, a familiar rhythm. He was always fine until he wasn’t. “I saw her cheat.”

“Merrill?” Dorian answered, raising an eyebrow. “The Merrill in our living room? Hawke’s friend Merrill? Scariest flight attendant this airline has for some reason Merrill?”

Cullen shook an angry finger at Dorian. “That’s her whole thing. She pretends to be all sweet and out of it. Don’t fucking believe any of it. I’ve seen her cheat. I bet Isabela taught her that. I was going to win.”

“Sure, honey,” Dorian said. Cullen was still drunk, even if the cold had somewhat slightly sobered him up, and Dorian knew not to argue with him when his blood to alcohol ratio was this high. “That doesn’t explain why you left like that,” he pointed out, shivering.

Cullen didn’t answer right away, his eyebrows furrowed, face still and stuck as if frozen by the cold night into an upset grimace. He reached for the derailleur and pulled at it, trying to give the chain some slack so he’d be able to put it back around the loop. His fingers missed it once, and twice, and a third time. He could see the derailleur clearly but his cold hands didn’t seem to know what to do with it. His gloves caught on it, almost tearing on the edge of the metal, and he swore. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Dorian blow in his own hands, hoping for a second of warmth. He pulled on his gloves with his teeth, removing them both in a quick motion. He extended his arm up, raising them to Dorian, who stared for a second. “They’re making it impossible to catch the chain. Take them.” Dorian mumbled a thank you and hastily put them on. The size was all wrong, Dorian’s fingers longer and more slender, and the sight made Cullen want to put his palm against Dorian’s and see the difference there, skin to skin. He grabbed the chain and yanked it angrily. It didn’t move, and he reached in his coat for more whiskey. It burned his throat going down, warming him up slightly. “I think the derailleur’s broken.”

“There goes your polar adventure.” Dorian raised his now gloved hands in a gesture of peace when Cullen glared at him. “If there ever was one.”

Cullen sighed. “Fine. I tried to go to sleep after that Wicked Grace game. Had nightmares. Couldn’t breathe. Wanted to get some air. Got worried about my family, so I wanted to go get them. Then my bike broke.” Cullen felt Dorian’s hand on his shoulder and he shook his head, angry at himself and the world and the snow and his derailleur and the weight of the almost empty alcohol in his coat. “My parents were in the nightmare, and they couldn’t pay for anything, and they had to sell the house, and I wasn’t there and they couldn’t reach me and if they could’ve reached me I would’ve helped, but I was working so hard and I couldn’t hear them and they couldn’t find me. I wasn’t there. I was out in the city, overwhelmed, drowning for no reason. I woke up and I ran.”

“Cullen,” Dorian answered, crouching a little. He had no interest in getting closer to the snow, but he needed Cullen to look at him.

Cullen turned his head away. “It’s stupid. My parents are long dead. There’s nothing I can do for them.”

“Have you tried giving your sister a call instead of running out in a snowstorm? No plane is going to take you to Honnleath at this hour in this weather,” Dorian said. “Call her. I’m sure they’re all fine.”

“I know they are,” Cullen answered, frustrated, upset that Dorian of all people wouldn’t understand nightmares wrapped around him like a second skin, choking him out, making reality fuzzy. He got up, pushing Dorian’s hand away, kicking his bike. It fell on its side, cushioned by the snow, an anticlimactic soft little _thud_ barely audible over the wind. “I was drunk and confused and still in a daze from waking up in a panic and I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Let’s go home,” Dorian said.

“I can’t leave my stupid bike here.” Cullen looked at it with angry eyes, as if the bike was the reason why everything was wrong and nothing made sense and his brain couldn’t quite align his eyes well enough to fix it. “I’m not leaving it here.”

“You’re too drunk and too cold to fix it,” Dorian said, putting his hand back on Cullen’s shoulder, rubbing his coat to warm him up. “It’ll still be here tomorrow. No one’s stealing a broken bike in a snowstorm. Plus your bike looks like shit. Even with a sign that said ‘free bike’ and neon arrows pointing to it, I don’t think anyone would take it.”

“Why are you here?” Cullen asked after a pause, grabbing the handles of his bike in the snow and pulling it back up. He looked at the chain again and despised realizing Dorian was right. He’d break it even further if he kept insisting. “Why did you come get me?”

“A human shaped ice cube won’t do my dishes for me, so I figured I’d better get you back between four heated walls before I lose the only useful man I know,” Dorian said, crossing his arms on his chest. Cullen gave him a heavy look, and Dorian rolled his eyes. “You’re being all serious because you drank too much and you feel stupid. I will not indulge your dramatic little scene. Not unless it happens on a warm beach. I’m sorry your theatrics are being ruined by a snowstorm, but you chose to live here, so let’s just carry your bike back and you’ll look at it in the morning.”

“Why are you being mean?”

Dorian paused in the middle of helping Cullen hold his bike up and looked at his friend’s face again. The question was unexpected. Cullen was used to his sarcasm, knew the cold made his already thin patience thinner, and knew they both had drank too much to have a heartfelt conversation in the snow. They did not get _heartfelt_ drunk. This was not the kind of drunk they were. It would’ve been too dangerous to drink otherwise, and Dorian had not spent more than half his life hiding a lot of feelings from everyone around him to vomit them out each time he drank a little too much. “What is going on with you, Rutherford?”

“I just…” Cullen started, frustrated. “I used to have so many jobs and so much stuff to do and it occupied all of my time and I was happy. I knew what I was doing. I knew where I had to go. It was hard and it seemed endless and it was a lot of sacrifices but it was the only thing that mattered.” Dorian pushed the bike forward, inviting him to start walking if he wanted to keep talking, but Cullen stayed still. “I don’t know what I’m doing now. I have all this free time and I have this money and this big flat that’s not even mine and I’m paying off my family’s debts but it doesn’t feel as good as it should. I should feel accomplished.”

“At the moment, you should feel freezing,” Dorian said, “and it’s worrying me that you don’t. Walk.” Cullen took a step forward and held the other side of the bike, grabbing a handle. Dorian felt slightly relieved that the man wouldn’t be stubborn enough to wait out the snowstorm at this intersection, and they started in the right direction. “You need to find a hobby. You’ve just never been bored in your life before. You’ll get used to it. We all do.”

“I feel useless,” Cullen answered. “I don’t need a hobby. I need a purpose.”

“Yeah, well,” Dorian said, grimacing as they raised the bike up the sidewalk on the other side of the street, “as they say in Tevinter, _festis bei umo canavarum_.” Cullen stared at him. “It’s a silly proverb that means something along the line of you don’t find purpose, purpose finds you. I’d tell you it includes you certainly won’t find it in a snowstorm, but-”

“I get it, Dorian,” Cullen said, shaking his head. “You’re cold.”

“I’m cold!” Dorian insisted, angry now. “Aren’t _you_ cold? Out there looking for a purpose. Why don’t you look for more brain cells instead? Why don’t you look at the weather before you go out, scaring me like that? What if you’d fallen on your bike? Knocked your head? Passed out? What if you’d been hit by a car? What if you got lost? I bet you don’t even have your phone to warn anybody. Then what? You won’t need to find a hobby _or_ a meaning to your life when you accidentally stab yourself with your whisky bottle and get buried in the snow and I never see you again!” Cullen’s wide eyes made Dorian angrier. “You’re an idiot. I hate you.”

Silence settled between them for a minute as they pushed the bike in unison, falling into synch, their cold and wet shoes threatening to make them both fall ass first on the pavement. Eventually, Cullen chuckled. “You were worried about me.”

Dorian clicked his tongue. He tried to stay angry, but the slow smile growing on Cullen’s face made his resolve break, and he couldn’t quite be as snappy as he wanted. “What tipped you off, genius?”

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said after a while. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I don’t really know what I meant to do, but it wasn’t worrying you. I hope I didn’t ruin your party.”

“I don’t care about the party,” Dorian said. He could see their building in the distance and picked up the pace. It took Cullen by surprise and he half-tripped, half-slipped, losing his grip on the bike. Dorian extended a hand at the last minute and Cullen grabbed his forearm, pulling himself back up. He knocked into the bike and into Dorian and slammed against him. Dorian struggled to hold his equilibrium and swore when the pedals hit his shins but settled Cullen anyway, holding him upright. They looked at each other. “Did I mention I hate you?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Cullen said, pulling back from against Dorian’s chest. He glanced at the bike, making sure it wasn’t even more broken than it already was, and noticed Dorian looking at him look at the bike. “Are you hurt?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Because I am very brave and very strong, I’ll live. Better get your precious bike to the hospital, though, just in case.” Cullen laughed and Dorian shook his head, his own smile growing imperceptibly. “It might be terminal.”

“Yeah, and I can replace you easily but I could never find another dark grey second hand bicycle.”

“Sassing me, uh? Thank the Lord, he’s back,” Dorian said with an exaggerated fist pump.

Cullen didn’t comment but only smiled harder. His drunken questions had no answers, but at least Dorian was back at his side, paying attention to him and him only and bothering him about it. It was only because Dorian was needlessly dramatic on a near constant basis that Cullen easily concealed this side of him, prone to the same melodrama his best friend excelled at. “Does that Tevinter phrase you told me really mean what you said, about purpose?”

Dorian looked at him. “Absolutely not. It means _you will be the death of me_.”

Cullen shook his head. “I knew it.”

“You are very smart,” Dorian answered as they reached the doors of their building.

Cullen held the bike alone and watched Dorian push open the building’s front door. He rolled his bike inside and carried it to the elevator with a sigh. The warmth felt good, even if he wouldn’t comment on it for fear of Dorian never letting go of the vindication it would give him.

“Found what you were looking for?” Colbert asked as he watched them huddle against each other, waiting for the doors to open.

“He’s here, isn’t he?” Dorian answered. Colbert nodded like he knew something Dorian didn’t and Dorian made a face. “Cullen, tell him I’m not your boyfriend.”

Cullen turned around, looking between the two of them. “Why?”

“I knew it!” Colbert said as the elevator doors dinged.

Dorian exhaled a frustrated breath and grabbed Cullen’s elbow, pushing him in without a word. He ignored Cullen’s silent question and the elevator went up, slow as it ever was. “Whatever.”

Cullen took a swig of whisky and looked at himself in the elevator’s mirror, only now realizing how drunk his reflection was. He almost asked Dorian why the Cullen in the mirror was trying to avoid his gaze and if it was physically possible or if he was just cross eyed. Dorian was looking back at him and Cullen asked, instead, “do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Dorian blinked at him. The words felt so wrong in Cullen’s mouth, and despite the electric shock it sent all the way down his spine, he didn’t quite know what to do with them. “I beg your pardon?”

“Why did Colbert ask that?”

“How are those two questions-” Dorian started, and rubbed his temples. _Don’t get into this. He’s drunk. You’re drunk. He’s stupid. You’re stupid. Stop acting like this is a life or death competition of idiocy._ “He thinks we’re lying about being roommates.”

“Oh,” Cullen answered. “Well, we’re not.”

“I know that,” Dorian said. “Not that you helped clear that up.”

Cullen shrugged. “What’s so bad about people thinking we’re dating? It was going to happen either way. Colbert’s not the first.”

Dorian thankfully was saved from answering that by the doors opening, and he made his way back to his front door, keys in hand. Cullen was going to drag snow all the way through the apartment with his dumb bike, but he didn’t have the heart to tell him to leave it out in the hallway. After all they’d been through, Cullen would insist on having his precious baby back in the room they used for storage of everything and nothing. Dorian opened the door and shivered as he walked in, his feet still wet, socks stuck to the inner sole of his shoes. He sat on the little stool next to the entrance and watched Cullen walk past him, droplets of snow pooling around him as he did exactly what Dorian knew would happen, tracking muddy snow everywhere in his wake.

“You’re back!” Hawke said with a cheer. “Merrill had a timer set for half an hour. We were discussing what to do if you didn’t come back.”

Dorian chuckled and threw his coat on the cupboard next to him. He unlaced his shoes, grimacing at the state of them, and glanced up at the table. Cassandra had predictably fallen asleep on the couch and Varric had joined the big roundtable, along with Leliana and Josephine, who sat close to each other like they held a secret between them. Cards were out and drinks were full. It was like they hadn’t even left.

“How was the rescue mission, lovebirds?” Varric asked.

“I broke my bike and there was talk of giving me mouth to mouth,” Cullen shouted from the hallway.

Heads turned to Dorian and he paused in his mission to get his feet warm as fast as possible. “That’s not…” Dorian answered, kicking off his shoe. It flew across the living room and landed with a _thud_ that woke Cassandra up from her slumber. “Whatever. Cullen, you better clean up the shit you just put everywhere on the floor.”

“It’s water! It’ll dry!” Cullen shouted. “I’m going to bed!”

“You’re not playing another game with us?” Josephine said, a barely contained smile on her face. Leliana snorted and they heard a faint _screw you_ from down the hallway.

Dorian got up with a groan and walked past the table, stopping to look at his guests. He could hear Aveline and Carter still caught up in a conversation in the kitchen and wondered what they found so fascinating in each other to be having so much to say. He would be called a bad host for asking out loud so he didn’t, leaning instead on Varric’s chair. “I need a warm shower and at least three more layers of clothing to compensate for my trek in the Frozen Wilds, so I trust all of you not to burn down the apartment while this happens. You’re all welcome to stay the night until the morning, I don’t need anymore _looking for people in the snow_ drama until the sun is up again.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Hawke said.

“Or do what you want,” Dorian answered, contrarian as always. “But don’t ask me to come get you.”

He heard a chorus of answers from _enjoy the shower_ to _even if I promise you some mouth to mouth_ to _no one asked you to go get Cullen in the first place_ to _come on just do one game_ and decided to ignore all of them in favor of the heated floor of his big bathroom. He closed the door behind himself and let the water run, undressing against the heater, cursing this stupid country and its stupid winters and his own stupid heart that loved it still for no good reason. He caught something in the wide mirror in front of him and looked at his shirt before removing it. He only just noticed the stain there, a dark, stubborn mix of dirt and whatever was on Cullen’s bike chain that he’d tried to fix with his bare hands. The stain was the shape of Cullen’s fingers, right over his heart, where he had grabbed to avoid falling on the sidewalk. Dorian removed the shirt hastily like it burned, and threw it in the hamper. The cold was already a memory, never a match for the warmth of the man who had stumbled into him tonight like he had many other nights before.

***

Cullen walked out of his bedroom, mouth dry and head buzzing, the sun shining stupidly hard through the windows of the apartment. He was familiar with the feeling of a hangover. It barely registered with him anymore. Most mornings felt like this, and he knew he needed some cold water over his face, food in his stomach and a singular beer to reset his body and feel like a human being again. He knocked on Dorian’s bedroom and a woman’s voice answered _yes_?. He stared at the door and decided against opening it, walking instead to the living room. Hawke and Merrill were asleep against each other, sat at the table still, head in their arms. He spotted Cassandra on the couch and shook his head, wondering if she’d know what to do with the piercing headache that awaited her as soon as those sleepy eyes would open. No one else was here, and he imagined the other guests had left before the rest of them woke up.

Cullen made his way to the kitchen and opened the fridge, grabbing a beer from it. He unscrewed the top and sent it flying into the trash. He missed and sighed, bending down to pick up the cap from the floor. He heard a laugh behind him and turned around. Dorian was standing there, in his dark blue morning robe, fluffy slippers at his feet. A familiar vision. “I saw that,” Dorian said, pointing at the cap in Cullen’s hand.

“Good morning,” Cullen answered. “I think,” he said, glancing at the oven. Red numbers somewhat aggressively told him _13:46_ and he made a face. “Close enough.”

“How are you feeling?” Dorian said.

“Where did you sleep?” Cullen asked, ignoring the question. He felt like he always felt. He didn’t remember enough of the night before to be comfortable, but didn’t feel bad enough to act on his own decisions. He took a swig from his beer and felt his skin rearrange on his muscles, comfort coming back slowly as the liquid travelled from his lips to his stomach. “Was it Leliana I heard in your bedroom?”

“My bed was hijacked,” Dorian answered. “I slept on the couch of our empty room, next to your bike.”

“You look surprisingly calm about that,” Cullen said, putting some water in the biggest pan they had. He knew the smell of pasta would wake everyone up at once and was ready to cook enough for double the amount of hungover, starving stomachs in the apartment. “I imagine you’re plotting someone’s downfall as we speak.”

Dorian smiled. “Josephine will see me in her office soon enough.”

Cullen shook his head slightly, putting water on the gas. He looked at it without a word or much of a thought, waiting for it to boil. Cullen found making simple food comforting. Things would go exactly the way they should, and he liked the certainty of water boiling at 100 degrees. Maybe it was stupid, and maybe he was a fool for being comforted by something so simple, but it made sense in a way nothing else did. It was consistent, safe, unquestionable. Water would always boil over heat, whether anyone wanted it or not, be it Dorian or God or his dead parents.

He could feel Dorian’s eyes on him and refused to turn his head, unsure what had exactly happened last night aside beyond being picked up in the snow. He remembered the nightmares, but he couldn’t quite remember what he was doing out so late with so much hurried desperation. Time never seemed to agree with him, hours running away from his busy life or stretching out into the unknown to be forgotten forever by his drowned out brain. It kept him on his feet, and he imagined he should’ve felt more ashamed of the amount of _Cullen_ he didn’t himself know when he woke up, but he was a different person drunk and they led different lives and it made his sober one quieter. He didn’t care to ask what had happened. He didn’t drink to remember. Come to think of it, he didn’t quite know _why_ he drank. He heard Dorian’s voice and shook himself out of his trance. “What?”

“I asked you how you were feeling,” Dorian said. He moved to grab some salt and put some in the water Cullen had been staring at. “You always forget the salt.”

“It doesn’t change anything to the taste,” Cullen said. They’d had that conversation before. They would have it again. “You don’t even like pasta.”

“Not the one you make, no, because you always forget to season them right,” Dorian said.

“I thought you said salt wasn’t seasoning.”

“You piss me off,” Dorian said, pushing Cullen slightly. “Seriously, how did you sleep?”

“Fine,” Cullen answered. Dorian stood there still, and Cullen turned to him. “What is it?”

 _You need to think about how much you’re drinking_ , Dorian almost said, but he couldn’t quite word it right. He didn’t want to fight, not in the morning like that, not when Cullen was still troubled by stubborn nightmares and trying to figure out if he was bored, depressed, or worse. He knew Cullen would wave off any concerns, he always did. The man was more worried about everything else but himself, and even Dorian couldn’t change that about him. Every morning when Cullen awoke from a night of drinking, Dorian noticed it took more time for him to build back the Cullen they both knew. No amount of worrying would push him to change anything. No amount of fear at the thought the Cullen Dorian knew was the drunk one would make the man budge. Dorian watched Cullen drink his beer and tried to give himself some comfort, to bury his fears deeper in his heart, to convince his brain he was exaggerating Cullen’s issues, that he cared too much about him and _that_ was the real problem. _Do you still think it’s not a big deal if people think we’re boyfriends_ , he almost asked. _Maybe I could take care of you better if we were._ “Do you think I’d look good with a moustache?”

Cullen stared at him for a minute, trying to figure out what it was Dorian _really_ wanted to say. “I think if anyone can pull it off it’s probably you.”

“I thought that as well,” Dorian said.

Silence fell between them.

The water boiled.


	6. the 1

> I cannot make speeches. If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me.
> 
> \- Jane Austen

** 13 YEARS AGO **

Dorian slammed the ridiculous women’s magazine he was reading and put it down next to him. They’d been waiting in the airport lounge for their plane to get there for the past 45 minutes, but he had decided he was now bored and needed entertainment before doing something stupid like quitting his job because he no longer felt like doing it at this exact moment. He glanced at Cullen and sighed. He got no reaction, and sighed again, louder this time.

Cullen looked up from his phone and at him. Dorian was staring back, lips slightly pinched, legs crossed, hands linked over his knee. Cullen crossed his arms on his chest. Dorian’s lips turned to a smile. Cullen rolled his eyes. “Here we go again.”

“I just think that if you had _told me_ that you weren’t going to take my coat then I would have known to pay enough attention to grab it from the trunk. I wouldn’t have forgotten my book, I wouldn’t have to buy women’s magazines to pass the time, we wouldn’t be here, arguing, in front of the children,” Dorian said, pointing at the rest of the crew sat in front of them, who had long stopped paying attention to the married couple they worked with.

“It’s your coat!” Cullen protested.

“You take it every time!” Dorian answered. “How was I to know that this morning you would wake up and lower the standards of our relationship? You’ve trained me into thinking my coat was taken care of, but no, not today, and now I am cold, and literature-less. And you have yet to apologize.”

Cullen opened his mouth, about to say he _had_ apologized, but Dorian would answer something stupid like _you haven’t until you buy me dinner_ and so he just raised his eyebrows. “Why do you keep your book in the pocket of your coat in the first place?”

“It’s a pocket book!” Dorian said. “It fits in my pocket. I have it on hand for when we are delayed or I am otherwise bored with the company that I am forced to keep. Planes are like that. What if I _really_ want to read, all of a sudden, but my bag is all the way in a locker? You pilots know nothing of our struggles.”

“If it was in your bag, you would have it right now, and you wouldn’t be blaming me for not carrying your shit around,” Cullen said. “Think about it.”

“I will not,” Dorian answered, offended. “I am not paid to think. I am paid to look pretty and hand out coffee to ungrateful passengers.”

Cullen gave him a smile, pointing at the women’s magazines. “Then you’re the perfect target audience for these. Enjoy. You’re welcome!” Dorian threw a magazine at his face, and Cullen grabbed it with one hand. “These can’t be that bad. It’s not high literature but surely it can help you pass the time,” he said.

“Who do you take me for? A mindless housewife who seeks validation via stupid articles about skincare?” Cullen gave him a look and Dorian gasped in shock. “You do!”

“You’re being misogynistic,” Cullen said, flipping through pages. “Look. Top ten sex tips for the winter. Read that.”

“You’re being homophobic.”

“How am I-” Cullen started, and stopped, shaking his head. Dorian knew he never thought that that joke was funny, which is why he kept making it, and he stopped himself from arguing. He instead found the page he’d been looking for and crossed his legs, right ankle over his left knee, a smile on his face already. “Here. Do you want me to entertain you?” Dorian squinted at him, suspicious but incapable of answering _no_ to that specific question. “Here’s your horoscope for the week.”

“No,” Dorian said, raising a threatening finger between them. Cullen knew him well enough to know he had what others would call an _irrational hatred_ of horoscopes and what _he_ would call a god-given mission to prevail against the eternal scam that was astrology, and he had no patience for these made up prophecies that found their way into women’s magazines. “I will not sit here and listen to what the stars have to tell me.”

“Oh, yes, you will,” Cullen replied. He cleared his throat. Dorian could look away all he wanted, could make a show of opening another magazine and ignore him, Cullen knew damn well Dorian would listen to every word if he was the one talking. It had taken him some time to get that confident with Dorian, but he had known for years now that Dorian liked him too much to ignore him at will. Cullen rarely took advantage of it, but Dorian had asked for it today. “This week,” Cullen started, doing as much of a dramatic reading as he could, “ _Someone's brilliant one-liner could do more than tickle your funny bone. It could ignite a tiny spark in your heart._ Ooooh. Juicy.” Dorian raised his eyebrows but did not turn his head, stubbornly pretending to read this article about nails, and Cullen contained a laugh. “ _Few people realize how having fun can lead to romance, although you have always understood the connection, haven't you?_ ”

Dorian slammed the magazine shut once more and looked at Cullen, who stared back at him, as if waiting for him to answer the question. He didn’t need to be told about a spark, tiny or not, in his heart or elsewhere. He was having trouble enough with it as it was, and he didn’t need the intern from Girls Mag to poke him about it. Cullen’s voice resonated in his brain. _Haven’t you?_ Dorian squirmed just a little in his chair, uncomfortable at the thought that Cullen might be playing with him. It was unlikely, Dorian doubting Cullen had any idea what internal turmoil Dorian had been going through for some time now. Even if he did, that was not the way his best friend would handle it. That was the way _he_ would handle it, which, he realized, was infuriating. “This isn’t funny,” he finally said, and peeked at the page Cullen was reading from. “You’re making shit up.”

“I’m not that creative,” Cullen answered. “Why? Does this speak to you?” Dorian rolled his eyes but kept them on him, and Cullen shrugged. “Anyway. _Your ideal mate is more likely to be someone who makes you smile than someone who makes you swoon. Remember this when you're considering which crushes to pursue._ ”

“I will keep that in mind,” Dorian said, but his words had a mean bite. He took the magazine from Cullen’s hands, a little more aggressively than he wanted to. “What stupid sign is yours again?”

“Aquarius,” Cullen said.

“Great,” Dorian answered. He looked for the sign on the page and clicked his tongue. “ _There is no denying that having fun is fun. So try to put some silliness at the top of your to-do list today. You can kiss goodbye the deep issues of life for at least the next 24 hours and focus on just skimming the surface of things. Keeping life light and breezy will be pretty easy today, especially if you're surrounded by a friend who understands how to have a good time. Keep it simple, keep it low maintenance, and you'll keep smiling!_ ” Cullen looked at him with puzzled eyes and Dorian gave him the magazine back. “Thoughts?”

“None,” he said with a shrug. He didn’t believe in astrology anymore than his best friend did, and he particularly hated when he read it for fun and it was even a little bit applicable to his own life. He didn’t have the ego to believe that his problems were unique but he still disliked being given good advice on what to do about it by a piece of paper. If he had been able to kiss goodbye the deep issues of life, maybe he would’ve long ago. Right? Dorian looked at him and Cullen crossed his arms on his chest. “Fine. I hate it. _Keep it simple_. Yeah, why didn’t I think of that?”

“It was your idea,” Dorian said.

They didn’t speak much more after this, both deep in thoughts about meaningless sentences the stars had thrown upon the two of them. Dorian saw Cullen open his mouth a couple times, if only to change the topic, but he had closed it each time without saying anything, the silly words of the horoscope hanging heavy between them. And so they waited like they had before Dorian had decided to stir something out of boredom. _Talk shit, get hit,_ he thought to himself. It wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last, but consequences somehow still felt unfair to Dorian, who had just wanted Cullen to pay attention to him. He had, he always had, and now that it had been given to him he wished he could take back his own craving for the man’s golden eyes on him. It made him stupid and reckless. Time passed in silence slowly, and eventually, Greagoir told them their plane had finally arrived. They got up at once, Cullen leaving his side to walk next to his captain.

Dorian hung back, following the rest of his crew. He was unusually silent but his colleagues knew better than to bother him about it. He was their boss, even if he was new to the responsibilities, and he was confident at least three of the flight attendants were slightly too scared of him to say anything. He made his way to the plane, the ridiculous horoscope stuck in his head. They got the plane ready for passengers and he got distracted by his work long enough to forget Cullen had seemed just as baffled by the words as he had been. The flight to Dairsmuid was long but quiet, and Dorian was taken out of his rêverie by the noise of the interphone. He looked at the time and knew it would be Cullen, asking to be let out of the flight deck so he could stretch his long legs and drink a coffee. Sure enough, there he was, stretching in the galley with a sigh.

“How’s it going?” he asked, and before Dorian could answer, “I’m sorry about the horoscope. It was shitty of me.”

Dorian shook his head, grabbing a cup from the cupboard in front of him. Cullen was long past insisting on doing his coffee himself, and it kept Dorian’s hands busy. He glanced behind him to make sure they were alone. Nothing confidential about their conversation, but he knew his cabin crew and was wary of ears that heard something and repeated something else. It was the last thing he needed. “Now, now, honey, you didn’t write it, nor did it offend me greatly.”

“Still, you don’t like them and I shouldn’t have pushed it. It was meant to be a joke but it was only funny for me,” he added. He paused, frowning a little bit as he rubbed his shoulder. “It wasn’t really funny for me either. I should’ve known better.”

“I had no reason to react the way I did,” Dorian said, handing him the coffee. “It just rubs me the wrong way. They manipulate people with this. And for what? More subscriptions to Cosmo? Stupid.” Cullen laughed and Dorian shook his head. “Don’t even get me started on the usage of the words _funny bone_.”

“Hey, I got told by the stars to keep it low maintenance. They clearly don’t know the company I keep.”

“Now you’re just looking for trouble,” Dorian said, but the warmth between them had come back, and Dorian had missed it, and his heart was beating fast again and if he couldn’t bear a few hours of radio silence he didn’t know how he could possibly hope to get over that crush the magazine had told him to pursue. He was about to speak again, bring up something irrelevant to either of them to avoid dwelling on it, when they were both interrupted by a woman’s voice.

“Excuse me?”

Dorian spun around and faced the passenger who had appeared behind the two of them. He recognized her as the only woman in first class that had been too worried about flying to take advantage of the food, drinks and other services that came with the plane ticket. He had tried to comfort her before take off, but there was nothing to be done for someone who was this badly scared, and he imagined that the light swaying of the plane that Cullen and him could barely feel was making her anxiety worse. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t feel so good,” she said, holding on to the side of the bulkhead, glancing between the two of them. “Could I have some water?”

“What’s wrong? Anything we need to know?” Dorian asked, getting a glass out. He intended to keep her talking, most passengers who dramatically fell sick in the plane usually requiring little else than attention and a drink. “Still anxious about flying? Your timing couldn’t be better, Cullen here is our first officer for today. I’m sure he’ll be happy to answer all of your questions in great detail.”

The woman looked at him, taking a shaky breath. She pointed at the door of the flight deck. “Shouldn’t you be in there?”

Cullen looked at the door and back at the passenger. “The captain is in there taking care of the plane. Just needed to stretch my legs.” She didn’t look entirely reassured by his sentence and he tiptoed there, wondering what was acceptable to say and what was not. He was always very sad to hear about anyone being afraid of flying. It came so easy to him, he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around not enjoying every second of it. He could scarcely imagine himself doing anything else. “Are you afraid of flying?”

“I’m afraid of standing in a metal tube this high up,” she corrected, grabbing the glass of water Dorian handed her with a small grimace. She took in a sip and held onto it with one shaking hand, the other still tightly gripping the bulkhead for safety. “Flying isn’t real.”

“Well, you got me there,” Cullen said with a chuckle. The woman was tall, almost Dorian’s size, and she was _pretty._ Delicate traits framed her face who he imagined looked even better when it wasn’t stuck in a fearful expression. Her tanned skin was slightly darker than Dorian’s, and he was too distracted by her deep brown eyes to notice Dorian rolling his at him. “What about it scares you?” The woman gave him a mean glance and a wide hand gesture, as if to say, _what doesn’t_. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling stupid. “I’m asking because to conquer that fear you need to know what’s scary. And then you can work on understanding it.” She stared on, wavering a little on her feet, and Cullen decided to insist. “What I mean is that if it’s the turbulence, it helps to know why they happen and how the planes react to them, that way you can tell your brain what’s going on as opposed to believing you’re about to fall out of the sky. If it’s, I don’t know, human error that you’re afraid of then you should look into the training of pilots and realize we’re trained for mo-” He was interrupted by the woman letting go of the bulkhead and the glass at once, her weakened legs giving up on her in the middle of his sentence. He jolted forward and caught her before she hit the floor, one hand under her neck and the other around her waist. She was strong under her clothes and slightly heavier than he expected. Her arm fell to her side, limp, and Cullen looked around frantically. “Dorian! Do something!”

Dorian sighed and grabbed a magazine from the seatpocket of an empty seat. He fanned her and squeezed her hand lightly. “She’ll be fine.” Dorian looked up at him. “Why on Earth did you bring up human error? You terrorized this poor woman.”

“I thought I was helping!” Cullen said, distressed.

He was still holding onto her when she moved again, blinking slowly as she woke from her fainting spell. Cullen looked down at her, wide eyes full of worry. He held her gently and she stayed in his arms for a second until understanding of where she was came on her face and she jolted up. “Careful, careful,” Cullen whispered, helping her upright. He didn’t quite let go of her waist, the shirt rumpled where his hand had gripped. “You fainted.” He pushed the nearby crew seat open and guided her down onto it. “Dorian, give me some sugar or something. Did you eat this morning?”

“I’m fine,” she said.

“What’s your name?” Cullen asked, crouching in front of her. The interphone rang next to his ear and he ignored it, gesturing at Dorian to get it.

“Herah,” she answered. She seemed to realize how worried Cullen was and gave him a little encouraging smile. “I’m fine, really. I was late for the flight this morning and ran through the airport without eating anything.”

“Alright,” Cullen said. “Well, I’m here if you need.” Dorian cleared his throat and Cullen looked up at him. “What?”

“Captain for you,” Dorian said, pointing at the phone. “I’ll take over, unless Herah here wants us to swap if you’re so invested. I don’t know how to fly a plane but it can’t be that hard if they let Cullen do it.”

“Ha, ha,” Herah answered, but she got up, steadying herself on Cullen’s shoulder. Her smile grew slightly when she met Cullen’s eyes again and she nodded at him. “Thank you. I’ll try to Google _why turbulence_ with the plane WiFi if I don’t die by the time we land.”

Cullen smiled, moving to stand in front of the door to the flight deck, adjusting his uniform tie. He gave her a soldier salute, two fingers on his temple, and nodded slightly. “I find a little alcohol helps,” he said. Dorian and Herah both looked at him and he stumbled on his words to correct himself. “Not when I fly!” Dorian rolled his eyes behind Herah and Cullen rubbed the base of his neck again, damning himself for not being as smooth or good with words as Dorian. “I mean when I’m scared of something. I’m not drinking right now. You should have a drink. For me. Not that I want to drink.”

“Alright,” Dorian said, pushing Herah politely back in the cabin and out of the way. He shoved Cullen closer to the flight deck with one hip, pressing on the flight deck’s keypad to get the door open. “We get it.”

“Did I make it worse?” Cullen whispered as the door to the flight deck opened.

“Go press some buttons,” Dorian answered. “Lest you propose to the first pretty lady that falls in your arms.”

“I didn’t-” Cullen started but the door opened and he disappeared in it, crouching slightly to fit through the frame.

Dorian slammed the door shut behind him and took in a breath. Cullen was always so busy with work even in his off time that Dorian sometimes forgot that the man still had needs and a big stupid mushy heart that was attracted to pretty things like a magpie was to gold. He never acted on it, because he was intimidated by the beautiful doubled with a coward in all things _people_ related, but Dorian had seen him fall in love with strangers more times than he cared to count. It never mattered, because Cullen always went home with him and Dorian prided himself on being prettier than most. He had seen Cullen first, back when the man wasn’t even looking. Still, it slightly hurt his feelings to be reminded that unless he gathered up his courage to tell Cullen how he felt about the state of their weird friendship, Cullen was bound to have women fall into his arms and start noticing it. He noticed Herah was looking at him from her seat and he collected himself. He grabbed a mini bottle of red wine and another glass and walked to her.

He crouched to be at her level and put the wine on the tablet in front of her. “Can I interest you in liquid courage?”

“With pleasure,” she said, unscrewing the top of the bottle. She ignored the glass Dorian handed and poured the wine directly in her mouth.

“You’d get along with Cullen just fine,” Dorian said, nodding at the now empty bottle of wine in front of her. “Maybe it was a sign.”

Herah looked at it, and back at Dorian. “I fainted. I didn’t fall into him on purpose,” she felt compelled to say.

“They never do, my dear,” Dorian answered with a smile.

***

Dorian dried his hair with a fresh towel, trying to concentrate on styling it after a shower, but he was distracted. The flight had been long and he should’ve been more tired, but he felt _antsy_. It was something Cullen had said when they’d arrived at the crew hotel, one of Rivain’s finest, about how all they ever did in Dairsmuid was stay around the hotel. Crews fought amongst themselves to fly there, the paid-for accomodation more like a resort than anything else. Rooms had ocean views, the food was delicious, the place had a spa, a pool, the weather was always nice. The layover was never really long and Cullen had been right. They had a plan everywhere they went, and Dairsmuid’s rarely changed from 2 days of _nothing_. They never went far from the many terrasses. Cullen’s pale skin burned under the sun and gave him colors he desperately needed, Dorian always dragged him to the same jewelry shop that was famed across Thedas, they clinked glasses next to the pool at night and looked at planes flying over their heads. Like everything else they did together, it was safe and familiar and it felt like home.

It left Dorian wondering. Would anything change if their hands brushed in the immense hotel’s big hallways? He couldn’t imagine it would make any difference that wouldn’t be better. Wouldn’t it be the same if the familiar _cling_ of cocktail glasses was followed with the soft noise of a kiss? Would it be such a big deal to Cullen if they sat next to each other instead of across in a dark corner of the hotel bar? The beds were big and soft and they had more than enough pillows for the two of them. They shared breakfast every morning and had so for years, what did it matter if it was in bed together? Dorian couldn’t get the questions out of his head, couldn’t find any answer that wouldn’t go his way. He couldn’t understand how that wasn’t the thing that made the most sense, how Cullen could possibly disagree. He was always the one telling Cullen he would end up alone if he didn’t get over his fear of taking the first step and start talking to the women who caught his eyes, that he needed to learn how to state what he wanted and ask for it. He was good at it in every other area of his life except this one. Maybe the reason why was clear. Cullen had decided the way his life would go when he was a kid, but how could he have predicted Dorian? How could a tiny, stubborn child from the countryside could foresee _him_? Cullen was not one to change his plans, not one to question the great movements of the universe and if they mattered, if they meant anything, if his God he believed in because someone had told him to maybe wanted something else for him. And what was Dorian if not a coward for refusing to help him out in this? _We can be good for each other_ , Dorian thought. _We have to be._ What were they if not together, on every level that mattered except the one Dorian craved so much, that he couldn’t satisfy with other men, no matter how hard he tried?

Dorian sighed. He didn’t know what to do with himself, much less Cullen. Every other man he had pursued before had been the opposite situation, all physical and nothing else. He had craved intimacy, domesticity he knew he couldn’t have, feelings he didn’t care for. He always had the skin, never the heart. He didn’t know how to ask for a body. Not like that. He wasn’t afraid of rejection, he never had been, but this felt like his entire life in the balance, shaking on its delicate hinges. He didn’t know if Cullen realized all they had given each other, and that there was more to account for, more to ask about, more to give and more to take. He wished he had the words to convince Cullen how sweet and tender it could all be. He would have done it with his lips if Cullen had let him, had given him a shot, had shown him what it could be. Dorian loved a fool who should’ve known better. Again.

His phone buzzed and he looked at it. Cullen had sent him a picture of two glasses at the downstairs bar’s counter, a polite way for him to say _hurry up_. Dorian could hear his voice in his head now, saying _I know you’re pretty you don’t need to take six hours doing your hair about it_ , and Dorian would answer _may I point out that_ you _do your hair too now_ and Cullen would ruffle his hair and look embarrassed but pleased and Dorian would want to kiss the pink of his cheeks and maybe one day he would.

He looked at himself in the mirror before he left the room and decided his reflection was good enough. He hadn’t managed to get his hair to look the way he wanted, his brain too noisy to focus, and he decided to put it up in a bun. His facial hair wasn’t quite the length he wanted yet to properly shave into a mustache like was his new goal, and he brushed his finger against the neatly trimmed hint of a beard there. He wondered if Cullen’s lips would find it soft, if it would bother him, if he would nuzzle there and say something stupid like _your hair’s tickling me_. “Pull yourself together,” he told his reflection.

Dorian made his way down, looking for Cullen in the wide lobby. He spotted their favorite barman and walked to him. The man pointed at the other side of the bar and Dorian thanked him. Cullen had already downed half of his cocktail. “You don’t wait for me anymore?”

“I was thirsty,” Cullen said.

“Do you know about that drink they have, the one off menu?” Dorian asked, settling next to his friend on the high chair. He put an elbow against the counter, sitting on his side to face Cullen. “What’s the name of it… Oh, right, I think they call it _water_.”

Cullen rolled his eyes and slid Dorian’s drink to him. “Should we do something on this layover? Aside from the usual?”

Dorian grabbed the glass with two fingers, twirling the alcohol in it lightly. “Visit Rivain? God forbid,” Dorian said, and he smiled when Cullen did. “If you’d like. I’m happy to follow you around if you’re taken with a need to walk all over town as opposed to the regular sitting at the pool and using the big gym.”

“They added new weightlifting machines,” Cullen pointed out.

“Thrilling,” Dorian answered. “I might even go watch you use them.”

Cullen chuckled. He looked around. The bar was filling up slowly, and they would soon move to their reserved table, one in the corner of the room, almost outside on the terrace but not quite, a semblance of privacy between floor to ceiling glass windows that gave them a view of the sunset. It wasn’t like they had secrets they needed to keep or like they were doing anything forbidden, but they enjoyed feeling like it was just the two of them. Cullen never wanted to be in the center of any room and Dorian had always been fond of dark corners. “Actually,” Cullen started, looking back at Dorian, “I had a thought.”

“Let’s hear it,” Dorian said, playing with his earring.

“We still don’t have anything planned for our next holiday, and we haven’t really had any opportunity to go around Rivain. We could do that. Tour the country, see the cities we don’t fly to. The weather’s going to be nice and we could swing by Antiva City on the way home. I’ve never been further North than this, which is crazy when you think about it,” Cullen noted, head lost in thoughts.

Dorian looked at him in silence, a small smile playing around his lips. He tried to find the words he’d been wanting to use, to put them in nice sentences that would make them both happy, to get rid of the lingering doubt in his head. He couldn’t quite picture the conversation going wrong. It made no sense. Cullen was dreaming about going on holidays together, ordering him his favorite drink, looking at the room to make sure no one would accidentally take their table. Love was flimsy and dangerous and overwhelming but they had it. Of this Dorian was sure. Of what Cullen would do with it, it was unclear either of them was.

“I’d love that,” Dorian said, and he heard his own voice, all soft and mellow. He had to force himself not to call Cullen an idiot romantic just from the knee jerk reflex of hearing himself be so openly tender in public. “In fact, I also myself had a thought, believe it or not,” he started, clearing his throat.

Cullen snorted. “No way,” he said, watching Dorian down the rest of his cocktail in a swift motion. Cullen gestured over his head at the barman to bring them another two. “The Dorian I know would never have _thoughts_. And sharing them, too, whether I want it or not? Unheard of.”

“Yes, well,” Dorian started. Cullen looked at him, waiting for him to go on, and Dorian’s resolve wavered. He was not one to second guess himself, but he looked around and realized how far away he was from home. He had never fooled himself enough to truly forget what had been beaten into him in Tevinter. He had a great many things to say to the child that used to be Cullen, but he hadn’t questioned his own youthful ghost, who had forged ahead, running into the abyss, leaving a lot behind that he couldn’t carry. He didn’t long for all he had abandoned, didn’t regret abandoning it either, but as he opened his mouth to say what he wanted to say, he found himself silent.

He thought of the one man he’d loved as much and left behind, of teenage years spent running to and away from each other in hushed whispers, in between closing doors, late at night and early in the morning. His father had once told him that knowing what he wanted, being sure of it, would cost him considerably. He hadn’t meant it badly, he was a proud man from a proud family who prided themselves on taking in that cost, but Dorian wasn’t sure he had done the maths right this time. There was no way to be sure until he bit the bullet, but he had played russian roulette his whole life and had a bad feeling about this round. Was he being selfish, again? Hadn’t Tevinter taught him he couldn’t have it all? What about Cullen made him so certain that the world was any different across borders?

“Dorian?” Cullen asked, frowning slightly. “Is everything alright?”

The barman brought them the cocktails Cullen had ordered and Dorian looked at them. He took in a breath, frowning slightly. “Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

Cullen’s frown deepened, but he gave it a good thought. He was used to humoring Dorian, be it listening to him criticize some obscure historical reference while they were watching a movie or, like now, trying really hard to find the one neuron in his brain that could whip up some form of creativity and apply it to Dorian’s scenarios. He tried to think of where he’d been 10 years prior and was satisfied with the present. “If my predictions are right, probably exactly the same place.”

Dorian blinked at him. “The same place?”

“Why not?” Cullen asked. “I’d make a few adjustments. I’ll be a Captain by then. You’ll have white hair.”

“ _White hair_?” Dorian answered, making someone jump two seats away.

Cullen laughed, a loud laugh that showed all his teeth. “Just a little bit. You’ll pretend that you can make them fashionable but you’ll be secretly upset by them. I can picture you looking at them in the mirror mournfully. Your youth, gone. Forgotten. Left behind by a treacherous haircut that revealed everything.” Dorian’s mouth was slightly open in shock and offense, and Cullen laughed harder. “Something dramatic like that.”

“You-” Dorian started. “I won’t be that old in 10 years!”

“Not in human years, no,” Cullen said. “But counting in all the times something mildly bothers you and it makes you, and I quote, ‘ _age 5 years_ ’, it’s not looking good for your moustache. You’ll be 400.”

“And I will be all the wiser, thank you very much,” Dorian answered. “I do not fear the passage of time _or_ white hair, might I add,” he said. “You are simply jealous because you’ll probably be bald by then.” Cullen’s smile dropped at that, and Dorian snorted. “I’ll still call you pretty no matter what, don’t you worry about that.”

“Whatever,” Cullen answered, patting his hair gently, as if to make sure they were still there. “Why do you ask? Any great Dorian life plan I should know about? Are we moving out?”

 _We_. Dorian looked across the room. “Let’s move to our table,” he said, getting up as he did. Cullen followed and they settled in their corner. He watched Cullen frown at him, noticing something was up but not quite able to tell where the conversation was going. Dorian knew the man well enough to know he was not thinking about a relationship, and was probably more worried about Dorian announcing he wanted to quit and find another job. It was all Cullen thought about. Planes, drinks, planes, drinks. “Grim future for me,” Dorian said. “You become a Captain and I just get a change of hair?”

“I don’t know,” Cullen said, shrugging. “You won’t tell me what this is about.”

“So in this future you’ve imagined,” Dorian said, leaning in slightly, “I’m right there next to you still?”

Cullen’s frown deepened. “What? Of course you are. Where would you have gone that you’re no longer by my side?” He paused, looking at Dorian’s face more intently. _What am I missing_ , he thought, trying to figure out why he couldn’t just glance into Dorian’s eyes and understand exactly what he was getting at. It was usually so easy. It felt wrong not to have that, and it made him even more worried about the conversation. If Dorian’s eyes no longer faced his, what would he do? Where would _he_ go? “What’s going on?”

Dorian’s mouth was dry, and he clicked his tongue, feeling silly for worrying Cullen, feeling even sillier for not saying what he wanted to say before the opportunity passed. _You are Dorian Pavus_ , he told himself. _You will not be stuttering in front of a pretty boy at your big age. You are being stupid._ “I have no intention to leave your side, Cullen,” Dorian said. “Don’t start panicking on me. I was just wondering about our life plans. Did you know Vivienne might be getting married?”

Cullen stared at him, waiting for what would come next. Dorian knew he did not know anything about that, nor did he care, and that the only work-related gossip he knew had been forcefully put in his brain because Dorian always wanted his opinion on flight attendant’s hottest galley debates. “Where are you going with this? Are you asking me if I see myself being married in 10 years?”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know,” Cullen answered, crossing his arms on his chest. “Who would I be marrying?”

“You only know about 6 people, so your options are limited,” Dorian said, looking at his well-manicured nails.

“Are you getting worried about dying alone again?” Cullen asked.

“What? No,” Dorian answered, frustrated. “Besides, _again_? That was _one_ time.”

“It was a really dramatic time,” Cullen said, chuckling. “I don’t think you’ve ever been this drunk since.” Dorian turned his head away and Cullen laughed, reaching out to touch his arm. Dorian glanced at him and Cullen caught his gaze and held it. “Don’t you worry. We can do the thing like in movies where if we’re not with anyone when we hit 40 we can just get married. Won’t change much.”

They looked at each other in silence, Cullen’s eyes locked with Dorian’s still. Something passed there, Dorian seeing both reassurance and slight incomprehension still but mainly a peace in golden eyes that Dorian couldn’t find it in himself to trouble. _You keep doing this_ , he thought to himself, and the ghost of other golden eyes before his, at peace until they met him and he, like clockwork, asked a little too much. The cardinal sin of envy, and the inevitable punishments that followed. The stare went on, and Dorian realized Cullen would not understand. He would need it spelled out, and Dorian would never spell _that_ out. If it wasn’t clear enough, it never would be. Dorian took in a breath and broke the stare. At least he had tried. Maybe they were better off. A relationship was a lot of work, it changed things, it made things messy and complicated and grave. What they had was unique. Maybe Cullen was right not to see it go anywhere else. His heart broke quietly, like it always did, and he took in a breath. This would pass. It had to.

“Cullen?” Dorian turned around hearing the woman’s voice as Cullen raised his head to it. “I thought that was you,” she said, taking a step closer. The two men looked at each other and at her, and she cleared her throat. “I’m Herah. I’m the woman who fainted in the plane.”

“I remember you,” Cullen said. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, yes,” Herah said. “I saw you at the bar earlier, I wanted to apologize about the drama. I got to apologize to Dorian but I didn’t see you again in the plane.”

Cullen waved her concerns away. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’d rather be there than hear about my passengers hitting their heads on the floor mid-flight.”

Herah laughed and it made Cullen smile harder, the dumb smile Dorian recognized from when Cullen’s brain became stupid and mushy. It didn’t happen often, he was usually too focused on something else to notice _people_ around him, but his interest was unmistakable when it was here. His eyes shone and his lips curled into a silly grin. Dorian could’ve counted down the seconds until Herah said something a _little_ flirtatious and Cullen’s hand would fly up to his neck and he’d rub the base of his curls there, trying to come up with a good answer, trying to be as smart as he was pretty, enjoying the attention and rejecting it at once.

“Well, I’m glad,” she said with a smile. She glanced at Dorian and raised her glass to him slightly. “Dorian made sure I was well taken care of after that anyway, so, thank you both.”

“My pleasure,” Dorian answered. “What are flight attendants if not nurses and therapists and waiters and trusted companions.”

“And I’m sure you can style all those different uniforms to perfection,” she answered with a little bow that made Dorian smile. “Ayway, I don’t mean to bother and interrupt a conversation,” she added. “Just thought I’d say my piece, it’s not every day that you _literally_ fall into a pilot’s arms _and_ see him again at your hotel afterwards.”

Cullen blushed and rubbed the base of his neck. _Told you_ , Dorian thought to himself, and he looked around at the empty table next to them. “The conversation was over,” Dorian said, reaching for a chair. He flipped it around and showed her it. “Come join us.”

Herah’s smile grew slightly and she held the top of the chair, hesitating. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes,” Dorian said, hitting Cullen with his foot under the table before he said something stupid like _oh we’re very boring you probably wouldn’t have a lot of fun_. “What brought you on Cullen’s little plane? Are you from here?” Dorian asked.

“Not _here_ here, but north of Rivain, yes,” Herah said, sitting down. She ran her hand through her short hair. “Kont-aar? Have you ever been?”

Dorian and Cullen looked at each other, seeing in each other eyes they both felt _slightly_ stupid for never having visited much beyond the doors of the hotel. “We haven’t had the pleasure,” Dorian answered. “What were you doing in Denerim?”

“I’m only back in Rivain for a meeting, and I’m flying back out in two days. I’ve actually had to relocate to Denerim recently, just for a while,” she said with a grimace. “I work for a non-profit that helps refugees across Thedas. I was initially working at home, the workload in Kont-aar is endless, given the amount of refugees there, but I got promoted, and I’m being sent places now.”

“Congratulations…?” Cullen said, as hesitant as she looked displeased. “I think?”

“Let me guess,” Dorian said, “the weather.”

“It’s so fucking cold and grey down here!” Herah said, exhaling angrily, as if she had been holding back the criticism for months. Dorian laughed and she shook her head. “Antiva?”

“Tevinter,” he answered. “Minrathous.”

“Long way from home, huh?” she said, and raised her glass at that.

Dorian hit his against hers with a small smile. It was rare to meet someone that did not immediately have something to say about Tevinter, and who instead understood the harshness of moving. He imagined it had a lot to do with her work, and realized there was something about her that caught _his_ eyes, too. She looked like she knew her way around Thedas and he never shied away from an honest, good conversation on all its little dark corners. Cullen was looking between them, drinking in silence, and Dorian patted his knee. “You can say it.”

“No, no,” Cullen said. “It’s fine.”

“He gets real pouty when people make comments on Ferelden,” Dorian said, whispering to Herah, loud enough for Cullen to hear. “These people are insanely protective of their grey little rock for some reason.”

“ _Rock_?” Cullen answered, unable to help himself. “Bold accusation from someone from Minrathous.”

“Diamonds are a type of rocks,” Dorian answered with a scoff.

Cullen blinked at him. “No, they’re not.”

“Yes they are,” Dorian said. “You don’t know anything about diamonds.”

“I know they’re not rocks!” Cullen said, crossing his arms on his chest. He noticed Herah chuckling at them and shook his head.

“But do you _really_ know?”

“They’re minerals!”

“Are you guys,” Herah gestured between the two of them, “together?” she asked with a smile, noticing the complicity between them.

Cullen glanced at Dorian, as if asking what the best answer to that question was, and when Dorian raised an eyebrow at him, he just rubbed the back of his neck again. “We’re family,” he answered after a pause. “We’ve known each other for a long while.”

Dorian’s eyes met Herah’s, and he gave her a little nod. He looked at Cullen, who appeared slightly lost between the two of them. The word didn’t come as easy to Dorian, and he wasn’t entirely sure Cullen knew what it meant, what it represented, but it was as good an answer as any. The way the evening was going, it would be the only answer there was. “Despite the bickering, it’s less brothers and more _far away cousins of the in-laws so it’s still okay to flirt a little because who_ wouldn’t, but yes... family.”

Herah laughed at that, shaking her head slightly. “Who can resist flirting with such a deliciously pretty face?”

Cullen didn’t get to say anything before her phone rang, his bright red cheeks answer enough. She grabbed it from her pocket and put it against her ear, whispering a soft _excuse me_ as she turned around, walking a couple steps away from them. She spun back to grab her glass of wine and wink at Dorian and trotted away, pacing around a nearby empty table. Cullen turned his head to Dorian, eyes full of panic. “Did she flirt with me?”

“She sure did,” Dorian answered.

“What do I do? She told me I was pretty,” Cullen said, whispering loudly.

Dorian shook his head. “Cullen, come on now. You know you’re pretty.”

“I don’t know what to do about it!” Cullen said, growing more frantic as he noticed Herah hang up.

“Profit,” Dorian answered with a shrug. “Do you like her?”

“I don’t know her,” Cullen said. Dorian rolled his eyes and he bit his lip slightly. “She’s really good looking.” He watched Dorian’s face change and he reached out to grab Dorian’s wrist. “No. No, no, no. You are not leaving me alone with her.”

“She’s not going to bite,” Dorian answered. “Unless you ask her to.” Cullen’s eyes impossibly widened and Dorian shook his head. “Look, unless you’re interested in me being there for what is sure to follow tonight,” Dorian said, pushing Cullen’s hand away from his arm and getting up, “I will go and have adventures on my own.” Cullen just looked up at him, mouth open still, eyes wide. Dorian crossed his arm on his chest. “What now? Are you? Interested? Now’s the time to speak up on it.”

“I…”

Cullen looked at a loss for word and Dorian patted his shoulder slightly. He turned around before he changed his own mind and paused in front of Herah, already on her way back to their table. Despite the last minute addition, it really only comfortably fit two chairs, and they were both well aware of this. Only Cullen seemed confused by the simple mathematics of people interested in each other, always a little lost in the equation. Dorian grabbed her elbow lightly and gave her glass of wine a look. “Is it _Gigondas_ I smell?”

She looked down at the glass, following his eyes. “Unclear. I just asked for a nice red wine and they gave me that.”

“Did I mention you’d get along with Cullen just fine?”

Herah smiled. “You may have.”

“Wonderful,” Dorian said, and he walked past her, inviting her to his seat. “I’ll get us more drinks.” _What a flirt_ , he heard Herah say behind him, presumably to Cullen. He could hear the smile in her voice and his heart pinched slightly when he realized that he, too, would get along with her just fine. _I bet he can have any man he wants_ , she added. Dorian slowed imperceptibly on his way to the bar, enough to hear Cullen’s answer. _And he does._ Dorian walked faster now, refusing to let the words get to his head. He settled against the counter and flagged the barman. “Would you mind putting a bottle of _Gigondas_ on my tab, and send it to our table over there?”

The barman looked over his shoulder and whistled slightly as he grabbed two glasses. “Is that Cullen? Your boy found a girl?”

“Miracles do happen,” Dorian said with a smile, watching the barman kneel down behind the counter to grab a bottle.

“She’s hot, too,” the barman said, grabbing a tray. He turned around to open a little mini fridge and set up olives and peanuts between the glasses. “She was getting courted by half the bar half an hour ago. He’s the chosen one.”

“Is that so surprising?” Dorian said with a smile. “You’ve seen Cullen.”

“He usually runs away from women who try to do the same thing to him. What changed?”

“Divine intervention,” Dorian answered, and the barman laughed, calling a waiter to take the tray to them.

“You’re a good friend,” the barman said. “And the better looking of the two, if you want my opinion. Can I get you anything? On the house.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. His evening _might_ be saved still. “I’m not one to refuse a drink after such a well placed compliment.”

“I’ve been trying to get him off your side for two years so I could have you for one evening,” the man answered, shaking his head slightly. His voice was low now, the words for Dorian and Dorian only. “I couldn’t miss the opportunity.”

“And I’ll drink to that,” Dorian answered with a wink, moving slightly closer to him, putting an elbow on the counter and his chin against his fist. He turned around to glance at the table as the waiter delivered the wine. Cullen raised his eyes from the bottle to look at him across the room, and Dorian raised his glass to him. He moved his head slightly, signaling at the barman. It would be enough for Cullen to understand that he was not coming back to the table and would be perfectly fine with the company he found on the way. Cullen nodded back. They didn’t need words to understand each other, and it had been that way for long enough Dorian wondered if Cullen had forgotten there was a time their language didn’t exist. It had taken years to create and perfect it, a contraption by and for the two of them only. He thought again of Cullen’s vision of his future. _Where would you have gone that you’re no longer by my side?_

Dorian downed his drink and slid it back to the barman. “So. Where were we?”

***

Cullen stirred in bed, and was somewhat pleasantly surprised to find his head didn’t ache and his body didn’t feel as off as he was used to. In fact, he felt warm and content and as he blinked away sleep realized that the warmth came from the body next to him. His arm was draped around Herah, his head on her shoulder, his leg over hers. He raised his head and realized she was already awake, awkwardly texting over his head, arms bent at a weird angle so as to not bother him. Embarrassment rushed in as he realized he was holding on to Herah like that and he untangled himself from her, pretending to be half asleep still. He stretched as he did, turning around in bed, feeling stupid. Even if it was rare, it was not the first time he hooked up with someone on a layover, each time not realizing what was happening until Dorian left him alone at a hotel bar with a stranger. Yet this morning he remembered a surprising amount of the evening. He had paced his drinking, following Herah’s, knowing the tendency strangers had to comment on the speed at which he consumed them, and had ended up having an unusually good time. It had carried them into bed, and it had felt easy and just as pleasant as their many conversations that had dragged on long into the night.

“You’re awake,” Herah said, poking his shoulder with two fingers.

“Apparently so,” Cullen answered, moving around in bed to face her again, his head on his palm. “How are you?”

“Good,” she said with a smile. She moved forward to kiss the corner of his lips and swung her legs out of bed, linking her fingers over her head to stretch her arms. She yawned as she did so and it transformed into a laugh when she realized Cullen’s eyes had not left her body and he was simply watching her, head against the pillow, the ghost of a grin on his face. “What?”

“Nothing, just looking,” Cullen simply said. He was unsure what to do about being in a good mood so early in the day, and was already annoyed at Dorian telling him that he’d been right, he _did_ need to get laid. “You’re, uh, very pretty.”

Herah smiled. “Thank you. You’re not too bad yourself.”

Cullen put a hand over his heart, faking emotion, but he couldn’t quite hide the slight blush on his cheek. She laughed again, a clear sound as pretty as her, and he watched her grab a pair of underwear from her nearby suitcase. She disappeared in the bathroom and he sighed, unsure what to do now. Dorian would ask for details as soon as they’d be together again, and he wondered if he should invite Herah to breakfast or if it’d be too much, if she was excited to never see him again or if the conversations that had been interrupted by kisses and sighs and moans could start again over coffee. He didn’t quite know what it was about her that had him so floored. She reminded him of Dorian. He would’ve loved her as well, and he wanted to invite them both to lunch, he wanted to get out of the hotel and let Herah show them around the city. His stomach rumbled and he forced himself out of bed.

“Breakfast?” He shouted, looking for his pair of jeans that had been thrown somewhere a couple hours before.

Herah poked her head out of the bathroom, holding a toothbrush. “I need to head out for work. I didn’t want to wake you up, but if I stick around any longer I’ll definitely be late.”

“Oh,” Cullen said, standing in the room, alone again. He heard the sink run and looked around, unsure of what to do with himself. “You should have kicked me out.”

“You’re a good hugger,” Herah shouted back. “I was comfortable.” The door of the bathroom opened again and she grabbed a pair of jeans and a big, flowy tank top that she threw on as she moved, gathering personal belongings and throwing them in a backpack. “What’s your plan for today?”

“I don’t know,” Cullen answered, trying not to get in her way, recognizing the speed and efficiency of someone like him, always having somewhere to be, always somehow late for it. “Maybe try out the new weightlifting machines at the gym.”

Herah whistled. “Ooooh, send a video. I’ve seen what those arms can do. I could use a souvenir,” she said with a wink.

Cullen allowed himself to laugh at that and looked for his phone. He hesitated to say anything, to make a move, to tell her she could simply get his number, that they could meet back in Denerim. He was too shy and too unsure at once to be upfront with her. Dorian would’ve made fun of him for being so forward in bed and hesitant everywhere else, and he tried to muster the courage to offer something, anything. _What’s the worst that could happen_? Dorian would ask. _I don’t know_ , Cullen would answer. _That’s why it’s so scary._ “You could just see them again if you want,” he said between what could have best been described as a mix of clearing his throat and coughing.

“I will,” Herah answered, turning back to Cullen. “We’re on the same flight back to Denerim. Well, you’re flying me there.”

“Oh, oh,” Cullen said. “I meant-”

“I know what you meant,” Herah said, walking up to him. She dropped a kiss on his cheek and smiled, running careful fingers through his bed hair. “Leave your number somewhere. If I ever have an evening free from work, you’ll be the first to know. We’re both busy people. It’ll be nice to have a night out. You can show me around Denerim.”

“I agree,” Cullen said enthusiastically. “I had fun last night.”

“The sex was great,” Herah answered, grabbing her boots. She sat on the floor to lace them on. “And the conversation,” she added before Cullen got the wrong idea. “But the sex, too.” She jumped up and took in a breath. “Wallet, phone, paperwork, hotel card,” she listed, patting herself and going through her backpack. “Sorry to leave in such a rush. Duty calls.”

“Dorian and I are going to be around tonight, if you’ve got nothing else to do. Feel free to come drink with us,” Cullen said, handing her her jacket.

“Will do,” she answered with a smile, squeezing his fingers gently as she opened the door. She walked out quickly and closed the door behind her with a quick little wave of her hand, disappearing in the hallway.

Cullen stood there for a second, in silence, looking at the closed door. He walked across the bed to grab his phone and stared at Dorian’s text message, the bubble having been ignored last night as they tumbled out of a shower and back into bed. _Having fun?_

 _I think I’m in love_ , Cullen texted back.

***

“Do we have to do this now, Cullen?” Dorian asked, standing next to Cullen in the crew room. Cullen was furiously typing on a company computer, filing in a security report he’d promised Greagoir he’d do for him. “I am very tired.”

“Just a minute,” Cullen answered, his focus always challenged by Dorian’s incapability to shut up for more than two consecutive minutes. “I promised him I’d finish this after we land.”

“You said just a minute a minute ago,” Dorian said.

“Just _another_ minute, Dorian,” Cullen said. “Count it down if you want.” He glanced at Dorian and watched him open his mouth. “ _In silence_.”

Cullen wrapped up the report and sent it with a relieved sigh. He knew he ought to stop taking work away from the captains he flew with, but he would one day be one and hadn’t lost his habit of getting a head start on future Cullen. Dorian said a loud _3, 2, 1,_ in his ear and he grabbed his suitcase without a word, sending a distant greeting to the crews still in the crew room as they both left it. They hadn’t yet decided what they’d do with their days off. The layover in Rivain had been anything but restful, and he imagined the upcoming 48 hours would pass by them to the rhythm of food delivery and reality TV episodes. They walked side by side to the parking lot, a long way across the airport that they knew by heart and could’ve done blind.

Cullen could hear Dorian talk but he was distracted, his head elsewhere. He hadn’t seen Herah again the second night of their layover, but she had texted apologies and a picture of a staggering pile of paperwork she had to deal with before going back to Denerim. Cullen had been slightly disappointed, enough for Dorian to pick up on it and tease him about it. They had continued texting still. Something about her was especially attractive to him. They were similar in many ways: she was married to her work and cared about little else, wasn’t afraid of moving around to get things done and was ruthlessly efficient in all things. He had listened to her passionately talk about the work she did, the help she provided to refugees over Thedas and her own Qunari origins. He had recounted his own life story, from the empty countryside of Ferelden to Kirkwall to Denerim to where he was now, and they had been pleasantly surprised to find out they’d been in Kirkwall at the same time. It had been her first steps in the field she worked in now, and they had both mused about whether or not they’d seen each other then, if only in passing. _Small world,_ he had told her with a smile. _Ain’t that the problem_ , she had answered with a grin of her own.

“No way,” Dorian said, pulling him out of his daydreaming.

They had reached the parking lot and were on their way to Cullen’s car when he turned his head to see what had interrupted Dorian’s long retelling of his near brawling with this one specific passenger on the flight back. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on but the words died in his mouth when he saw Herah, leaning against the open hood of a car, swearing profusely at it in the empty parking lot.

Cullen and Dorian looked at each other and back at her. Dorian had had several opportunities to chat with her on the flight home. It had confirmed his thoughts that she was as interesting as she was funny, and they had gotten along like a house on fire in the few hours they’d been able to exchange words and stories from parts of Thedas people rarely cared about beyond vague criticism. He was happy he’d set Cullen up with her, his intuition never failing him. He had not expected the two of them to hit it off _this_ well, though, and was now forced by Cullen to monitor his every texts, Cullen refusing to send anything without first running it through him. Dorian hadn’t had the heart to tell him that while he was a very successful flirt and usually got the men he wanted, he was not the one to ask about how to build the very first steps of what could possibly eventually turn out to be a relationship. He barely knew how he’d gotten there in his friendship with Cullen. He had told him he needed to trust himself more about a thousand times already, but Cullen was Cullen and while being a proud, stubborn man, he fell apart completely in the face of pretty sweetness. “You want to go see her, don’t you?”

“Well,” Cullen said, stopping in his tracks. Left was his car and right was Herah, a couple meters away. “We have to, don’t we? We can’t just leave her there. What if she needs help?”

“Of course,” Dorian said, but Cullen didn’t move. “Well?”

“I don’t know,” Cullen answered, hesitating. “She looks mad.”

“I’d be mad too if after a flight like that my car didn’t work,” Dorian said. “In fact, at the first sign of trouble when it comes to yours, I’m slashing its tires and taking a taxi. Good on her for trying to fix it.”

Cullen ignored Dorian’s comments and took in a breath, walking to her with decisive steps. He heard Dorian chuckle behind him and ignored that as well. He’d given her a brief greeting when she’d boarded the plane earlier today, but he hadn’t expected to see her again so soon. He couldn’t tell if it was a good sign or a bad one. He cleared his throat as he reached her car, his hand tight against the handle of his suitcase. “Car troubles?”

“I don’t need-” she started, and when she recognized the voice, stopped. “Cullen?”

“Need a lift?” Dorian asked, stopping next to Cullen. He glanced at the car’s engine and made a face. He was knowledgeable in many things, but cars were not and would never be one of them. Dorian liked to be driven places, in cars he didn’t know the brands of, by people who knew how to turn on the seat heater for him. His interest stopped there. “Awful lot of cables you got in there.”

“The right amount,” Herah answered, wiping her forehead with the back of her wrist. “Cables’ not the problem.”

Cullen took a step forward and peeked behind her shoulder, balancing his suitcase on the side of the car. “Everything looks good, actually,” he said. Herah glared at him and he raised his palms. “But you knew that.”

“Battery’s dead. This is an old second hand car that I left at the airport for a couple of weeks, because I thought I’d need it sooner, and the battery died. It was already suffering before I parked it here but the cold must’ve killed it for good.” Cullen nodded and opened his mouth. She put a finger over his lips, refusing his commentary. She didn’t doubt he knew what he was talking about, but she didn’t need him to tell her. She had learned a long time ago to fix her own cars. “I tried jump starting it with the battery pack I have in the trunk, but it’s dead for good. And yes I tried twice. And yes it’s fully charged.”

“I was going to offer some tools so you could take the battery out for reference. I can drive you somewhere to get another one,” he said, and glanced at Dorian, who crossed his arms against his chest. “Dorian won’t mind,” he added.

A look of surprise passed over Herah and she nodded quickly. “I’ll take a 10mm spanner if you have it,” she answered.

“I probably have that,” Cullen said, walking to his car.

Dorian followed him there, grabbing both their suitcases. “You’re bringing me to a _garage_?”

“Come on,” Cullen whispered, opening the trunk. He threw their bags in and grabbed a little toolbox he always had with him, because, _you never know_. Dorian had asked many times if he _needed_ to go to work with six pairs of pliers in his car, and Cullen was happy to finally have an opportunity to answer yes to that question. “For me. I’ll owe you one.”

“You don’t deserve me,” Dorian answered.

“Yes, yes,” Cullen said, rummaging through his tool box. He heard Herah walk to them and raised his head to look at her, an apologetic look on his face. “I can’t find my 10mm spanner. I have 8 and 12 but I can’t find 10. Dorian, where did it go?”

“Cullen,” Dorian said calmly, “Why on Earth would you ask _me_ this?”

“You could have used it for something,” Cullen said.

“Darling, I refuse to even _think_ about which way anyone is meant to hold one of these,” Dorian answered. He looked at Herah. “Don’t mind him. He takes his little toys very seriously.”

“Now, now, Dorian,” Herah said with a smile. “Are you sure you didn’t touch his tools?”

“I have not,” Dorian answered, a hand over his heart. “Not for lack of trying.”

“Stop it, both of you,” Cullen said, frowning as he took things in and out of the box, moving screwdrivers and hammers out of the way to make sure it hadn’t slipped up somewhere. “Herah, I have a 12mm or flat pliers. That’s all I can offer.”

“I’ll take the spanner,” she answered, grabbing them from the tool box. “Sorry about yapping at you a second ago,” she told him. “Three men have already stopped by my car to try and teach me how to make it work. I was growing progressively less polite with each one.”

“I’d love that,” Dorian commented. “Maybe that’s how I can finally get interested in cars. I’ll just get a pretty one, break it, and stop by the side of the road.”

Herah snorted as she got to work, trying to get a good grip on the bolt that held the battery terminal’s clamp. “The type of men that are attracted to a pretty ass bent over a car and desperate to help aren’t the ones you want to take home, trust me.”

“I don’t think it would matter. He has horrible taste in men,” Cullen answered. Dorian slapped him over the head and he pushed him away with a laugh. “What? It’s true.”

Herah shook her head slightly, enjoying the sound of the two of them bickering behind her back. There was something _homey_ about them, she couldn’t quite describe it, but it didn’t take spending a long time with either of them to know that their bond was special and rare, something anyone would be lucky to witness and luckier to have. She had never settled anywhere long enough to know someone like they knew each other. She was not one to wistfully dream of things she didn’t have, and would take whatever relationship she could get, but she appreciated the many ways people loved each other. Family was something precious, and she herself had too little of it not to feel drawn in to people who were this close this loudly.

The spanner slipped away from the bolt and she swore at it. “Your tool’s too big,” she told Cullen.

“I bet he gets that one all the time,” Dorian said.

“Not usually a complaint I voice,” Herah answered, “but there’s a first time for everything.”

“Herah, I agree. There is a time and a place for big tools,” Dorian said solemnly.

“Especially Cullen’s,” Herah added. “Does he share his tool with every woman he meets?”

“Only the one that faint in his arms,” Herah answered. “His tool is well guarded.”

“I don’t like any of this,” Cullen said, gesturing vaguely at the conversation happening whether he wanted it or not. “It won’t stop you but I feel like I have a right to mention it.”

Herah snorted but didn’t add anything. She reached in her pocket for her wallet, pulling out the cardboard boarding pass she’d kept there. She tore up a side of it and bent it slightly, making it as thick as she could as she shaped it alongside the top of the spanner, trying to reduce the spacing of the grip so she’d catch the bolt. “Anyone here happen to have a hair tie?”

“Oh, me, me,” Dorian said, reaching inside his uniform’s jacket for the spare he kept there. Herah grabbed it and thanked him and he elbowed Cullen slightly. “Look. I’m helping!”

Herah attached the cardboard to the spanner with a hair tie, trying to make it as tight as possible, and tried it against the battery’s clamp. It fixed the grip problem just long enough for her to give the bolt there a good spin, and she made a noise of victory as she finished unbolting the battery with quick fingers. She exhaled a breath of relief as she pulled the battery out, flexing against the weight of it. She put it by her feet and closed the hood with a smile. “Do you want that back?”

Dorian looked at the suffering hair tie, who had, somehow, in the few seconds it had been against the bolt, collected a ridiculous amount of dust and oil. “It’s a gift,” he said. She laughed as she handed the spanner back to Cullen, who was too transfixed by what had just happened to take it from her hands. Dorian grabbed it from her hand and pushed him to the side slightly, hoping to get him out of his trance. “I think his tool will remember that,” he told Herah.

The comment woke Cullen up and he pushed Dorian back, clearing his throat, embarrassed. He made a mental check of asking Dorian if it was also this attractive when he was fixing shit around the house or for people and pointed at his car lamely. “Are you sure about the lift?”

“I have to run to work, this took a lot longer than I expected. I’ll just take the battery with me and come back to change it tomorrow. Thank you, though,” she added again. “This was unexpected, but you saved me a lot of time. Small world, uh?”

“Not always a problem after all,” he answered, and both their smiles grew. “Well, see you around, I hope?”

“I owe you a drink now,” she said, and leaned to grab the battery with one hand and her suitcase with the other. “And I get the feeling you also owe Dorian one,” she added. “By-bye!”

Herah left just as fast as she had that morning with Cullen, and he wondered if she was _always_ running places or if she just didn’t care for goodbyes. They watched her trot away, seemingly completely oblivious to the weight of the battery dangling at her side. “Dorian,” Cullen said.

“Cullen.”

“Dorian.”

“Let me guess,” Dorian said.

“I’m in love,” Cullen answered.

“You’re in love,” Dorian repeated. “Good for you, Cullen. Good for you.”


End file.
